Brompton Cocktail
by Aurilia
Summary: Post BDM. Jayne's only got a limited amount of time left to deal with a problem he's been slowly working on for the past decade. Will eventually include character death. Rated for violence, themes, and language. No ships.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ** Anything you recognize belongs to Joss. Anything you don't recognize probably belongs to someone else. The particular way I've filed off this tale's serial numbers, though, is totally mine, and I'll be a mite ticked off if someone tries to claim it as theirs. That said, please don't sue me over anything in this fic. I don't even own my own soul anymore, so all you'd get is a bunch of legal fees.

**A/N:** This freakin' thing just plain wouldn't leave me be. Thanks, sincerely, to the anniversary showing of _Firefly_ on the Science Channel, but it pulled me out of my attempt at horror and pushed me straight into this… whatever-it-is. Be forewarned that this is not a happy story. Don't get me wrong, Jayne Cobb is my favorite character on _Firefly_, and anyone who knows me knows that I sometimes have a hard time killing the characters I love, but this just would not get out of my head. I know a lot of people don't read deathfic – I rarely do myself – but… I hope this manages to make those who _do_ read such things… Well, 'happy' ain't exactly the right word here, but I hope y'all enjoy it.

This is set a few months after the movie.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter One_

It began with a nosebleed.

Jayne startled awake from the same old nightmare to find his pillow practically dripping red and it still nearly _gushing_ from both nostrils. His first thought was, _Was I in another tussle last night?_ before memory reasserted itself to tell him no, he'd not been in another barroom brawl. Serenity was halfway between Jiangyin and Persephone, and even Kaylee was currently out of booze. He had a small bottle of sake squirreled away under his bunk, but it'd been an expensive bottle meant to mark particular dates with a single shot, not his normal hooch, but that was all the drinking liquor currently on board. _Unless the others got some stashed, too_.

This all flashed through his mind in an instant, even as his right hand reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly shut. A glance at the panel next to the ladder cubby showed it was rapidly approaching breakfast time. _Hope it ain't my gorram day to cook_. A fleeting thought of the times he'd shared kitchen duty with Shepherd Book flashed through his mind, and he ruthlessly squashed the memories before they could spiral out of control.

Instead of wading through a morass of the past, he pulled himself up his ladder and into the corridor, his head swimming a little from the exertion. Sounds echoing from the galley told him he was neither the first, nor the last, to awaken. As he always did, he pulled the hatch shut behind him and engaged the lock. _Last damn thing I need is Crazy Girl to go an' get me in trouble with Mal… again. Though I swear I ain't _never_ left this door unlocked. Dunno how that fengle girl found Tessa, but I _know_ it weren't my fault!_ Once the bolts had clicked into place, he let go of his nose, only to hastily re-pinch it when a thick trickle of blood flooded over his lip. Luckily, one of the hushed voices he could hear was that of their medic.

Jayne awkwardly maneuvered himself down the short flight of stairs – something that was usually pretty easy to do, but now was slightly harder with the room seemingly tilted at an odd angle to the right and while holding his head bent forward to the point that his chin was nearly touching his breastbone. He noted that the doc and Kaylee were exchanging grumblings over the fact that the only thing left in the larder was molded protein while Zoë stared blankly at a steaming cup of coffee substitute that bore as much resemblance to its namesake as road-mud did with a bottle of twelve year old scotch. "Doc, you get done flirtin' with Kaylee, I got somethin' you need seein'." He plopped into the chair directly across from Zoë and patiently waited for the room to stop its slow rocking motion that appeared to waver in time to his pulse.

Zoë's eyes flicked up for a second, then her entire attention zeroed in on him. "Wo de ma, Jayne! What happened to you?"

Jayne shrugged a little even as a horrified shrieklet came from Kaylee's direction. Hunched over as he was, he didn't see Simon hurry over, but could feel the man's presence when he arrived at his side. "Good question," the doctor said. "Have a run-in with someone we don't know about?" His voice carried that 'I'm-trying-to-be-witty' undertone that tended to set Jayne's teeth on edge.

"Just woke up with it like this, doc," Jayne tonelessly replied, valiantly repressing the urge to knock out a few of the good doctor's teeth. _Too bad li'l Kaylee's gone and welded herself to him. Won't take kindly on me bashin' him like he ought be from time to time. Boy been out here over a year now an' _still_ don't know when to shut his gou cao de mouth._

"Any idea how long it's been bleeding?" Simon asked, then glanced at Kaylee, who was standing near the sink wearing an expression caught somewhere between horror, disgust, and fascination. "Get an icepack, Kaylee, would you, please?" She smiled at him and rushed down to the infirmary for one of the chemical packs that were specifically designed for maximum cold without any possibility of tissue damage.

Jayne shook his head. "Dunno," he replied. "Like I said, I woke up with it goin' like this."

Zoë held out a handkerchief. "Jayne," she quietly interrupted.

Jayne took the hanky with his left hand and a muttered 'thanks' while the doc nodded at Zoë's thoughtfulness. "Let go for a second," Simon said.

The blood flooded across Jayne's moustache and lips, saved from dripping onto his already saturated t-shirt by the hanky. Jayne pinched his nose shut once more. "Hasn't let up any," he said, his words a little muffled by the cotton fabric. "From what my bunk looked like, it's been actin' like this for a while." He blinked. "Pro'ly gonna need a new gorram pillow."

Simon frowned at the sight of the blood coming from both the large man's nostrils. "You sure you haven't been hit recently? Maybe banged your nose on a cupboard door or something like that?"

Jayne shook his head. "Last time I recall gettin' hit in the face was about a week ago. Was helpin' Kaylee move some parts, and a wrench slipped. Didn't hit my nose, though."

"Well, that explains the bruise you have on your jaw, but I agree," the doctor said, "it doesn't explain this."

Kaylee reappeared, a touch breathless, carrying the bright orange and silver chem-cold pack. "Could be we got the climate controls too dry. Cap'n wanted me to scale the humidity back some, help save on water."

"Nah," Jayne argued, even as Simon nodded thoughtfully. "Grew up on Silverhold, halfway 'twixt River Canyon an' Widestake."

Kaylee handed Jayne the icepack and smiled at him, though it was still tinged with the morbid fascination from earlier. "Really? I didn't know that," she said.

Ignoring the conversation for the most part, Simon's brow furrowed in thought. Though Kaylee had a good point about dryer than normal air being one of the typical causes of nosebleeds, it wasn't likely in Jayne's case. Silverhold was, barring the blackrocks in the 'verse, the driest planet in the system; he recalled a case-study from med-school of a new settler who'd died of dehydration on Silverhold in only sixteen hours. "Well, regardless of the cause, let's see if that cold-pack will do any good. Hold it over the bridge of your nose for a good ten minutes. If it's still bleeding, then come and see me."

"Yeah, doc, I know the drill," Jayne grumbled, moving the handkerchief to his right hand and smushing the cold-pack's shape so it would fit over and around the bridge of his nose. By the time he was done, Kaylee and Simon were both gone. Sighing a little, he slumped forwards more, scooting the chair out behind him, until his forehead rested on the cool surface of the table.

"I didn't know you were from Silverhold," Zoë stated, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

Jayne bottled a wince. Not only had he forgotten Zoë was there, he hadn't meant to say anything about home. _Just how much blood have I lost, me sayin' what ought not ta be said?_ "What of it?"

"Nothing, really… Just you've been with Serenity for almost a year and a half now, and I only just realized I don't know much about you." Zoë's voice held mild curiosity, which was a damn sight better than the flat, dead tone she'd been partial to since Wash died.

"Not much to know," Jayne hedged, staring at his feet. The pack was making his face a little numb, but the room had stopped moving of its own accord. _That's good, at least_.

"I know you like drinking and whoring and fighting and tall card, and can't play checkers to save your life, but… I didn't even know your mother was still alive until she sent you that hat."

Jayne wanted to look up, to see what expression might be on the first mate's face, because her voice held more animation than it had for anything since the funeral. However, if he wanted the gorram nosebleed to stop, he didn't dare move much from his current position. "'S called a toque," Jayne muttered. "Hats keep the sun off ya. A toque keeps ya warm."

"Toque, then," Zoë allowed. Had Jayne been able to look up and see her, he would have seen the tiniest of smiles pulling the corner of her mouth back on one side. "Who's Mattie?"

_Figures she'd remember, in spite o' the dead body that wasn't quite as dead as we all reckoned._ It wasn't his fault he had to read out loud to catch the sense of anything written – he'd always done better doing than reading about doing. "M'nephew," Jayne answered. He figured a little personal uncomfortableness was a small price to pay to hear something besides that robot-voice coming from Zoë. "My sister's youngest… Well, last I knew Mattie was the youngest. Maybehaps there's more now. Ain't got any post in a while – the toque was the last I heard from 'em."

"Perhaps there will be some waiting on Persephone," Zoë said.

Was it Jayne's imagination, or did she actually sound pleased at the thought? "Might be," Jayne agreed.

"What's your sister's name?"

"Kelly," Jayne replied. Though it hurt to talk about his family, it actually felt sorta good, too, and it was keeping his mind off how numb his nose was and how uncomfortable the drying blood caught in his goatee and in his t-shirt was becoming. "Married ta Harl Impness, outta River Canyon. They got six kids, last time I counted 'em all."

The way Jayne said the man's name was enough to let Zoë know that Jayne did indeed run true to brothers the 'verse over in thinking his brother-in-law wasn't near good enough for his sister. Her almost-smile involuntarily brightened some, and had anyone actually witnessed it, they likely would have died of relief on the spot. "Sounds like you don't like him much," she said.

Jayne shrugged, the motion making the whole table wobble a little. "I don't much care either way. Think Kelly coulda done better, but he treats her well enough, I s'pose." _An' he better keep on that way if that yuben de hundan knows what's good for 'im._

"Kelly your mei-mei?"

Nodding made the table wobble some more, and triggered that wavering rocking motion again. Stilling entirely, Jayne replied aloud. "Yeah. She's a coupla years older 'an Kaylee."

Hearing the names so closely together made Zoë's small smile morph some into an unseen expression of comprehension. Though Jayne had flirted some with Kaylee right after joining up – and still did, on occasion – his treatment of her had never been more than that of a big brother looking after a little sister, despite the fact that Kaylee was… well, pretty open with her… _affections_. Even his flirting had been more in the way of sibling-style teasing than anything else. "Let me guess, she's painfully cheerful, likes teddy bears, pink frilly things, and butterflies?"

Jayne chuckled, which made the slowly-easing twisty rocking motion of the room seem to speed up slightly. He ignored it. "Yeah. Though Kelly's 'lergic ta strawberries. She gets that way over palm-dates, though, so's I guess ya got me there." _Forgot how I missed bein' able to talk about her. How come I never did afore? _The grin faded. _You know why, Jayne. This is the first time since you left you been with respectable folks. Just don't ask what I know you're gonna ask next, Zoë. Please._

His silent plea went unheeded, and Zoë did indeed ask, "You have any other siblings?"

He couldn't hide the wince that time. "Should go see Simon," he mumbled. "This damn nosebleed ain't stoppin'."

Jayne climbed to his feet and headed towards the infirmary, halfway doubled-over to keep the blood pooling in his sinuses from draining down his throat. Because of that, he failed to see another faint expression on Zoë's face – one of confused surprise.

* * *

**A/N2:** Like I said earlier, this was caused, partially, by the Science Channel showing the series. However, it isn't solely to blame for this particular plot-bunny. The remainder of the blame can be laid at the feet of the band Avenged Sevenfold. I was listening to the two albums of theirs that I have when I was selling plasma a couple of weeks ago and each of the songs made music-vids in my head starring the folks from _Firefly_. Then I hit a wrong button trying to skip to _A Little Piece of Heaven_ and wound up listening to _Brompton Cocktail_ and _Strength of the World_ back-to-back (the former, of course, being where I got the title for this fic). Both of my mental music-vids wound up starring Jayne. A couple of nights later, they somehow managed to merge into a single storyline in my dreams, and I woke up with 'it started with a nosebleed' echoing in my head.

I haven't played around in this 'verse much – nothing worth posting, at any rate – and would dearly love to hear how well I'm doing in keeping characters in character. Thankee kindly aforehand. Oh! And if anyone spots any glaring issues with the Chinese cussing, let me know. I'm trying to use only the curses already shown in either the series or the movie, but I'm not sure if I will be able to stick to that later. Thanks again!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** I was asked if I had checked out some of the tie-in work for _Firefly_. Um… No, not really. I tend to research obsessively, though, so if any details from the novel(s) and/or comics are listed as canon detail on any of the Wiki-sites, then I'll incorporate those details (as long as it suits the needs of my story); however, I tend to consider canon to be just the series and the movie – just so y'all know, of course.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Two_

The source of the nosebleed was tracked down to a small vessel high up in the back of Jayne's nose. Simon wound up cauterizing it. Despite the cleanup done afterwards, though, Jayne still spent the rest of the day not smelling much other than blood and burn. It knocked him somewhat off-kilter, having one of his senses not telling him anything that might be of importance. Granted, he tended to use his eyes the most, then his ears, but scent was something he wasn't used to being without. He was also a little light-headed most of the day.

Figuring the doc probably knew what he'd been talking about, Jayne dropped back into the galley and sliced an end off a molded protein bar after cleaning up both the mess in his bunk and himself. Not bothering to try to make it any more edible, he slowly gnawed his way through the faintly-fruity damp sawdust and washed it down with the cold remains of Zoë's coffee. _Definitely need ta see 'bout restockin' some. Wonder if we can get some tomatoes this time 'round?_

"The probability approaches certainty," River's voice floated out from under the table. "Particularly if one were to enquire at the Southdown Abbey."

Jayne practically jumped out of his skin. "Yesu, tama de…" he took a breath, held it for a split-second, then nearly shouted, "Don't _do _that!" Though River had been doing rather well since Miranda, she still had her moments of insanity. Jayne wasn't sure whether to believe Simon or not that River had _always_ acted like this – and the girl was still a reader, something that honestly gave him a severe case of the creepy-crawlies.

The girl giggled and crawled out from under the table. "Clarify?"

Jayne frowned. "What?"

"Not startle the ape-man, or not answer a question not yet asked out loud; which would you prefer I stop doing?" She blinked at him, smirking.

"Either! Both!" Jayne gave himself a little shake and headed for his bunk, River's laughter chasing him from the galley. "Gorram fengle moonbrained…" his muttered grumbling trailed off at spotting Zoë standing in the corridor, staring at the hatch to the quarters she'd shared with Wash. To Jayne's knowledge, she'd not slept in her own room since Wash died, preferring to crash on the couch – when she slept at all, that was.

The strangely blank look of concentration on her face told Jayne that she was in the process of putting off – again – the need to enter her quarters and go through Wash's things. She made no indication that she realized he was even there. Jayne looked at the door to his own bunk, then at Zoë. Tossing one last longing look towards his own space, he gave a mental sigh. _Damn it. Why the hell ain't Mal dealin' with this?_ But he knew why. Mal was too busy sulking over Inara leaving again, choosing her career over him, to be all that aware that Wash's death still had a strong grip on his first mate. _Though, I oughta be fair. Ain't like Zoë's come out an' said it was still on her mind. Even if she did, I doubt the cap'n would notice._ Jayne gave another mental sigh and stepped lightly over to Zoë. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Zoë?"

She didn't react immediately. He was about to try again when she finally glanced at him. "What, Jayne?"

He looked in her eyes, seeing more there than she _ever_ allowed to surface on her face. Anger, hurt, confusion. Faint traces of some strange shame. _Pro'ly for not gettin' killed her own self._ "Ain't gonna get no easier for puttin' off."

The soft words, spoken in Jayne's gravelly murmur that never could be a whisper, tripped her anger and it flashed through her eyes. She whirled to face him, shoving him back a step. "What the hell would you know about it, you ben tiansheng de yi dui rou!" her voice hissed through the air like the trail of steam from a tea kettle just about to whistle.

For half a heartbeat, Jayne was shocked, then his own anger boiled up. He stepped back into her personal space and grabbed her shoulders. Leaning over, no trace of his normal sense of humor on his face, he shook her to punctuate his words. "You think you the only one in this whole gorram 'verse ever lost someone? You _ain't._" He dropped his hands, turned on his heel, and crossed the distance to his bunk in two large strides. He kicked his hatch open, then slid down the ladder and slammed it closed behind him.

Zoë was left standing somewhat stupefied in the corridor, blinking at the sudden disappearance of Serenity's hired gun. In all the time she'd known Jayne, he never once reacted that way to anything said to him. _Then again_, a small traitorous voice spoke up in the back of her head, _you don't really know him, do you? You never took the time. Figured he'd be gone the second someone offered him a better deal. But he's still here. Even after… After Miranda. Wasn't something he got paid for, either. And it's been a good long while since he's done more than make token grumblings about money._ She realized she was probably going to have to apologize. The thought was almost amusing – her actually _apologize_ to _Jayne Cobb_, of all people! – though it managed to make her feel even more miserable than she'd been before.

She ducked into her quarters, studiously ignoring the bed, and grabbed a small foil-sealed brick out of her closet, then darted out again. All-in-all, it took maybe ten seconds. It took her longer to grab clean clothes, but most of the time, she got side-tracked by Wash's appallingly colorful side of the closet. Moments later, she stood in front of Jayne's door. Before her nerve could desert her, she steeled herself and knocked.

"It's open," came Jayne's reply.

It was hard to tell through the metal, but it sounded like Jayne's voice was back to normal, carrying no lingering traces of anger. _If he's still pissed, I won't share._ Zoë opened the hatch and climbed down one-handed. The other still carried the treat she'd claimed from her room.

Jayne sat on his bunk, slowly dragging the blade of his antler-handled bowie knife across a whetstone. He glanced over at the rectangular indentation where the ladder stood. "You need somethin'?" he asked.

Zoë's eyes roamed the small room, noting that it was far neater than she'd expected. Jayne's desk was cluttered with various oddments – including three guns, two knives, and a strange-looking vice-like thing she couldn't name. All of his laundry, dirty and clean, was nowhere in evidence, save the bloodstained t-shirt from earlier that morning, which was soaking in the sink. Even his bunk was neatly made, though lacking in a pillow. He scraped the blade down the whetstone once more, clearly waiting for Zoë to say something.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "Shouldn't've said that earlier. Just…"

Jayne just nodded, focusing on his knife. He tested the edge with his thumb, then scraped it across the stone again. "I know, Zoë. Ain't gotta 'pologize. Not ta me."

"Yeah," she argued. "I do. Wasn't called for." She stepped a little closer to him, standing about halfway between his bunk and the ladder. She held out the foil-wrapped brick. "Share this with you?"

Jayne looked up at her and let a small smile crease his face. "That what I think it is?"

"Only one way to find out," Zoë replied, some small measure of her dry humor showing through.

Jayne stood and took the offering. Setting the whetstone next to his gun-vice, he used the knife to slice it precisely in half, then stepped aside. "Pick your half."

Zoë grabbed a chunk of the chocolate without bothering to look and quickly unwrapped the open end. Jayne followed her example, but pulled out his chair and gestured for her to sit, first. He returned to his bunk and bit into the peace offering. Without his sense of smell, all he could taste was sweet, so after the one bite, he laid the rest on his bedside table for later.

"Never thought I'd see the day you turn down free food, Jayne," Zoë teased, though it was a faint echo of how she'd done so in the past.

"Nah, not refusin'. Just gonna wait 'til I can actually taste it. Right now, I'm still smellin' blood. Not the greatest flavor in the 'verse."

"I'd imagine not." They fell silent for a few minutes before Zoë's curiosity got the best of her. "Who was it?" she asked, recalling how Jayne had disappeared without answering her question about if he had any other bothers and sisters.

"Who was what?" Jayne threw on his best puzzled-dumb-merc look.

Stowing the last fragment of the small piece of chocolate between her teeth and cheek to slowly melt, she glared back at him. "Don't play the idiot, Jayne. Know you're smarter than that." It hit her that he really was a lot smarter than he let on. She filed the stray thought away to deal with later. "You know damn well what I meant."

The befuddled expression evaporated, leaving behind traces of the expression she'd glimpsed as he'd growled at her in the corridor – hard to the point of being stony, anger burning with an ages-old hatred in his eyes. She knew it wasn't directed at her, though she couldn't have precisely pointed out her reasoning. "Ever'one's lost someone, save maybe Kaylee," he tried to redirect the conversation.

Zoë could see how the comment, if she answered in her usual manner, would have skillfully side-tracked things off on a tangent that had nothing to do with the man sitting not six feet from her. _How many times has he done that,_ she wondered. _Made some comment that kept us from asking anything personal?_ The tally was probably far higher than she would have given him credit for. Even her earlier flash of realization that the merc was anything but an idiot didn't really prepare her for this latest development. "Just answer, Jayne. Please?"

In truth, it was the 'please' that did it. _Don't think I never heard her say that afore. Not ta _me_ in any case._ Jayne's posture slumped and he rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor for long enough that Zoë was about to give it up as a lost cause before he spoke.

"I never was one for schoolin'," he said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was screaming at him that this was a bad idea. He simply told that little voice to shut the hell up, then locked it in a closet. _Think she needs this. Maybehaps I do, too._

The story he told her kept them busy until nearly dinnertime.

* * *

**A/N2:** The next chapter should be up soon. It's going to cover the 'story' Jayne told Zoë, so (though I hate them, personally) it's going to be a flashback.

Please remember to let me know what you think! Thanks in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** 'Kaida' is a name that the interwebz claims means 'little dragon' in Japanese.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Three_

Fourteen Years Ago

To an outsider, Silverhold had nothing to recommend it as a home. It orbited the protostar Heinlein in the Red Sun system, and was, for the most part, a dry and desolate wasteland, pock-marked with thick pine forests that crowded the few waterways it contained. It tended to be scorching in the day and frigid at night. However, it did have one thing going for it that even a core-bred socialite knew about: Silverhold didn't get its name by accident. Of all the planets and moons in the 'verse, it had the largest natural silver and gold deposits of all of them.

The main industry was, as one can imagine, mining for both metals. The gold mining was the more dangerous of the two – the seams ran deep enough that the only option was shafts. The silver was easier to get to, and Silverhold sported more than two dozen large strip-mines. The largest was Widestake, located only a degree of latitude from being smack on Silverhold's equator, and roughly a hundred miles from River Canyon, the moon's second-largest city.

The Cobb homestead was almost exactly halfway between Widestake and River Canyon, five miles outside a small town called Yellow Rock. It consisted of a couple of dozen acres, split neatly in two. One half was desert scrub, the other half consisted of rich forest. They, like everyone who lived out in the country, had a few farmy-type-things. A garden. Chickens. Some horses, cows, and goats. When the homestead had first been settled, nearly a hundred-fifty years before Jayne's pa'd been born, Xander Cobb had tried to get an orchard growing, but only one apple tree managed to flourish in the harsh climate and now spread wide branches over the homestead's back lawn. The homestead could barely be called a farm, let alone anything grander, but it was home.

Jayne was the oldest, born five years after his pa, Daniel, had married Radiant Levander. When he was three, Thad was born. Four years later came Jax. Then, when Jayne was ten, Kelly was born. Jayne wasn't altogether keen on schooling, and it showed. He was by no means stupid, but learning from books came hard for him, so he simply didn't try. Instead, he spent most of his free time with Thad, chasing rock-lizards or fishing in Deep River. As they got a little older, they started hunting the forest for deer and the desert for antelope, always keeping an eye out for the massive wild dogs that liked to prey on those same animals and their two-legged hunters, too. By the time he was fourteen, Jayne had developed a highly-accurate reputation for being one of the best hunters in the area.

When Jayne hit sixteen, he quit school completely – he would have done so sooner, but even border planets had some irritating and seemingly arbitrary laws – and headed out to Widestake. He hired on as an unskilled laborer and lived the first few months in the worker barracks on-site. A couple of weeks into his first real job, one of the freighter jacks took note of him and started teaching him how to run the massive machine that hauled fresh ore from the bottom of the pit – which reached nearly a mile deep – to the processing plant on the pit's rim; a circular spiraling route on a gentle grade that managed to make a two-mile flight into nearly forty-eight miles by land. When the freighter jack retired at the end of that summer, Jayne took the permanent position. With the increase in pay, he bought himself a ground car and returned to living at home. Subsequent paychecks went to converting part of the attic space above his pa's garage into his own little apartment.

The next year, he took his birthday off and spent the day wasting time in River Canyon. Coming out of a movie-house, he bumped into Kaida Tanaka. The tiny girl with slanting chocolate-colored eyes and straight black hair barely reached the middle of Jayne's chest, but she tore into him for making her drop her ice planet. Onlookers found it amusing to see the kid, tall as he would ever get but not yet filled out to the bulk of later years, backing steadily away from the girl's fiery display of temper. Twenty minutes of stammered apologies, one replaced ice planet, and a year of dating later, and they were married.

Though the two looked nothing alike – and, in truth, didn't much act similarly, either – both Kaida and Radiant had enough of the same streak of no-nonsense running through them that they got along surprisingly well. Kaida actually claimed she was closer to Jayne's mom than she was with her own. Radiant might not have picked Kaida for her eldest son's wife if it had been up to her, but she knew they fit together the same way she and Daniel did. It didn't need explaining, so nobody tried.

When Jayne was nineteen, news of their family's impeding growth caused first a display of irritating good cheer that lasted nearly a full three days; during those days, the only one who'd come within six feet of Jayne had been Kelly. Then panic hit. Daniel Cobb's response to his boy's antics was to drag him off to the first bar they could find and get exceedingly drunk. Neither Kaida nor Radiant were best pleased with them when the pair managed to find their way home the next morning. Jayne's apology to his 'little dragon' was to convert even more of the garage's attic over to living-space. It was completed in time – barely – for Morley's arrival.

Two years later, Thad graduated high school. At the celebration, Kaida announced she was going to have another baby, which resulted in a repeat performance on both Jayne's and his pa's parts. The only real difference was that there wasn't quite enough space remaining in the garage's attic to eke out another bedroom, so Jayne grandly promised Kaida their own house and started working overtime at the mine.

By the time Adelaide was born, they'd managed to save about half the money needed to build a three-bedroom house, and Jayne's pa was in the middle of negotiating a ten-acre spread for them from the landholder who bordered the west edge of Cobb land. Wanting to make sure the house would be done by the time either of their kids were old enough to really need their own rooms, Jayne packed in even _more_ overtime. The mine itself had a regular workday of sunup to sundown. The miners were allowed to continue working up to midnight, provided enough signed up for the extended shift. It was rare thing when that didn't happen, though. The folk who worked at Widestake were honest, dependable types for the most part, and all of them had families. Extra cash was always needed.

One night, not long after his twenty-second birthday, Jayne found himself to be the last man actively working. He finished backing the freighter into position for the morning crew to unload, then hopped out of the cab. He climbed the three-story distance to the ground, shivering slightly. It was rapidly closing in on winter, where daytime temperatures reached a pleasant twenty-four Celsius but plummeted to only one or two degrees during the night. Even though he'd forgotten his coat, he just tucked his hands under his arms and started jogging towards the barracks, mind full of the coming weekend – the family was going to picnic outside all day, in honor of Thad's engagement to Hettie Carsen from Yellow Rock. The crew who didn't live on-site parked their ground transport on the far side of the building.

Thomas, one of the night guards, recognized him and nodded a greeting as he hurried past. Two more of the guards, Jayne thought one might be Mark, but didn't recognize the second, were warming their hands over a barrel-fire at the end of the barracks. He figured they had a good idea and Jayne's jog slowed some as he approached the barrel.

"…gonna not be late on this. Most ev'r'one's sleepin' come three or so, but the foreman shows up by five most days. It's a fengle narrow window," the stranger was talking in a low voice, but Jayne hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"Hey, Mark, that you?" Jayne cheerfully greeted the taller of the two firelit guards.

The men startled a little. The shorter man, wearing a rather unkempt beard, started to open his mouth, but Mark elbowed him. "Sure am, Jayne. How's that pretty wife of yourn?"

Jayne beamed his best smile, holding his palms out to the fire. "Can't complain. Leastwise not now that Addie's sleepin' through most nights. You still datin' whassername, Jeri?"

"Joriah," Mark corrected. "Nah. That ship done sailed. Speakin' of, you might wanna head on home afore ya freeze solid. Doncha own no coat?"

Jayne chuckled along with Mark. "Sure do, but I left the gorram thing in the car this mornin'. Pro'ly a good thing I took the next two days off. I'm gettin' tired enough I'd leave my head behind."

Jayne nodded to the two men, not at all suspicious that the stranger hadn't introduced himself. Even after working at the mine for going on six years, there were still a whole lot of folks he'd never met more than in passing during lunch; he didn't take it personally when someone wanted to wait a bit afore getting friendly-like. As Jayne jogged into the darkness towards his car, the stranger shoved Mark. "Whacha go an' let 'im leave for? He heard us talkin'!"

Mark scoffed. "That's just Jayne. Ain't the sharpest tool in the box an' got ears for nothin' but his fambly beside. We coulda been plannin' on robbin' the 'Liance herself, 'stead o' just this dumb-ass mine, an' Jayne wouldn'ta noticed."

The stranger's face frowned. "Ain't he a Cobb?" Mark nodded. The stranger pushed him against the barracks brick wall. "Tama de, you idiot!" he hissed. "His pa's a gorram _planetary marshal_!" The stranger let go of Mark's coat and tore off after Jayne. "Jayne!" he shouted, seeing his prey standing next to a cheap ground car. "Jayne Cobb!"

"Whacha need, friend?" Jayne hollered back, punching in the security code to unlock the doors. A heavy weight slammed into him from behind as the locked beeped open. "Hey!" He twisted around to shove the man off of him, but froze when he felt something cold and sharp press into his neck.

"You listen and you listen good, Cobb – you ain't gonna go tellin' your pa nothin' 'bout what you mighta just heard. You hear me? I might not take too kindly to it, if ya take my meanin'. Might get me upset. An' when I get upset, I just might hafta take m'troubles to that pretty wife o' yourn. Dong ma?"

Jayne had absolutely no idea what the scruffy man was talking about, but he knew better than to argue with a lunatic. He just closed his eyes and said, "Shi. Yes. Whatever you want, friend. I ain't lookin' for no trouble." He opened his eyes again and hastily memorized what little of the man's face he could see in the dim light.

The man gave him a smile that sent shivers down his spine and removed the blade from Jayne's neck. "Good ta see we got us an understandin'. Don't you be breakin' your word, now, y'hear?"

Jayne nodded vigorously. The man backed away and faded into the parking area's shadows. Once the man was out of sight, Jayne escaped into his car and locked the doors. It took nearly ten minutes for his hands to stop shaking enough for him to control the car, though his pulse didn't slow any until he parked in the familiar and welcoming glow of the homestead porch light. _Ain't no one up yet,_ Jayne thought in dismay on seeing the dark windows. _Gonna hafta wait 'til mornin' ta speak ta Pa 'bout that kuangzhe de hundan_. Knowing he could do nothing about it for the time-being, he pushed it aside and headed up to his apartment.

While Jayne was having difficulty getting to sleep, his father hadn't yet been to bed; he wasn't even home, to tell the truth. Daniel Cobb had been planetary marshal for Silverhold's district seven for going on thirty years, and been head of the district for the last ten, so sleepless nights were nothing he was unused to. Tonight, though, was something new. A group of black hats had been systematically robbing the processing plants for gold and silver ore all over Silverhold. Thus far, the monetary value of the stolen bullion had reached a heart-stopping fifty _million_ credits. Highly impressive, considering witness reports that this was a small-time operation with no more than a dozen men. What wasn't so impressive was the fact that every two weeks, like clockwork, another mine would be hit. The only thing that had kept the group from being caught so far had been the sheer number of mines available to choose from. Since they never hit the same mine twice, though, tonight made it a sure thing as to which would be the target – there was but the one mine left.

Daniel had ached to warn his son to stay away from work, but knew that any variation in the accepted pattern for the workers of Widestake had the possibility of scaring off the bandits. And that just wasn't something Daniel was going to allow, not in his district. He spared a moment to mentally curse the ineptitude of his fellow district marshals before refocusing on his job. At ten past four in the morning, the mobile radar unit indicated the baddies had made their move. _Time to get to work_, Daniel thought, straightening his hat and checking his pistol.

When Jayne finally fell asleep, it was with the dim glow of dawn on the horizon. When he woke, it was to bright noontime sunlight. He could hear Kaida rummaging around in their kitchenette, grumbling to herself about being out of _every gorram thing in the 'verse an' then some_. He smiled to himself and hauled his ass out of bed. "Jayne!" Kaida hollered, hearing him stir. "You up?"

"Yeah, hon. Whacha need?"

"Keep an eye on the kids, Ma's runnin' inta town in a few, takin' Kelly with 'er, ta pick up some supplies your pa forgot to brung home with 'im. I need ta give 'er our list too."

Jayne splashed water on his face. "Be right out." She'd disappeared before he could exit the bathroom, but wasn't gone long. When she got back, he asked, "Hettie here yet?"

Kaida nodded. "Brung her folks, too, an some stuff like lawn darts. Jax's hidin' in his room, though. Seems Hettie's li'l sis is right easy on his eyes. Your pa got tangled up in work again, and's runnin' late. Said he'd be home in a coupla hours."

Jayne chuckled at the bit about Jax and nodded at the bit about his pa, then scooped up Morley. The three year old giggled as Jayne settled him on his shoulders. "Gonna go see what needs doin' still," he said, then kissed Kaida on the cheek.

Meanwhile, only a mile away, six men who had managed to slither through the marshal's nets during the early-morning trap were plotting. The location of the Cobb homestead was far from secret. Anyone with wave access could look up the address in an instant. The bearded man who'd brought Mark in on the scheme in order to learn the routine at Widestake had taken it on himself to do just that once his ship had landed; it hadn't taken more than a moment to memorize the information. He was glad now that he had. Not counting the security guard – that guy had always been expendable – they'd lost half their crew to the gorram marshals. Three were dead for sure. One more probably was. The other two had been taken alive. And it was all that Cobb kid's fault.

Back at the homestead, the barbeque was lit and womenfolk sat chatting, watching the older kids chase each other with a hose while the younger kids were occupied with a small wading pool. Since Jayne and Thad were among those trying to drown each other with the hose, the only man present – Hettie's pa – was making himself useful by repeatedly poking the charcoal in the barbeque and mentally wishing that Daniel Cobb would hurry up so he wouldn't feel so drowned by frippery. It wasn't really his fault, though. He'd wanted sons. But his wife had produced nothing but girls. Four of 'em.

Back at the marshal's station in Yellow Rock, Daniel's chief deputy finally managed to talk the man into going home, promising that all the paperwork would be done in his absence and to keep him updated with the results from the search for the men who'd escaped. Daniel nodded in gratitude, then headed home.

Less than three hundred meters from the house, the scruffy man and his cohorts hid in the tangle of thick brush that marked the boundary between forest and desert, watching the small party on the lawn below. "Jonsey, you got that cannon o' yourn ready? I wancha ta fire soon's I say so."

'Jonsey' – a tall, rangy-looking man with an affinity for improvised munitions – grinned at him. "Sure thing, Boss."

They didn't have to wait long before their boss' plan became apparent. The high-pitched whine of an approaching ground car grew in volume. A moment later, a plume of dust kicked up by its passing showed over a not too distant hill. The boss smiled the same smile he'd warned the kid with the night before. "Aim for the ground car," he ordered. "The rest o' you, start shootin' when it blows. I don't want no one but that gorram kid breathin' at the end o' this." He waited for his men to nod, then clarified. "Kid I mean's the tall one, there," he pointed at Jayne. He was, save for his pa, the tallest of the Cobbs. "The one with the dust mop on 'is head." Jayne hadn't always had short hair, though it'd never been long enough to braid.

The first clue anyone had that something was going horribly, terribly _wrong_ was when Daniel's ground car pulled to a stop next to his son's and promptly exploded. What followed next was a confusing stampede of screaming, terrified people. Jayne saw six figures emerge from the forest, each of them shooting. He saw Hettie Carsen's head explode. The sound of Thad's yelling managed to unroot his feet and he followed his younger brother to the gun-safe in the garage. Thad got it unlocked quick enough, and Jayne grabbed his twelve-gauge and followed Thad back outside, idly wondering when he was going to wake up. He knew he'd been yelling himself, but couldn't remember what, not even moments after the words had left his lips.

His shotgun only carried two rounds. Always before, that had been all he'd needed. Now, though, he didn't know where to begin to aim. A flash of yellow caught his peripheral vision and he turned his head in time to see the bearded man from the night before raise a machine pistol at his wife – who was clutching Adelaide to her chest and making a run for the garage. Jayne's vision turned red. He raised the shotgun and braced the stock against his shoulder. He wasn't quick enough to keep his wife and baby girl from being cut in half by the pistol, though his aim was as good as ever.

Jayne didn't stop to check the man, but raced to Kaida's side. He knew it was hopeless even as he rolled her over. His hope had been for Addie. False hope, as it turned out. One of the rounds had gone straight through Kaida and lodged in the baby's brain. The sudden ringing in his ears drowned out the fact that the sounds of screaming had all but stopped.

The boss-man's second looked around at the scattered bodies in satisfaction. The only one still breathing was the one his boss had pointed out. All-in-all, a good day's work. _Now, ta get the hell outta here._ He started to head back to the forest to meet up with the others and almost didn't see Jayne spot him until it was too late. The man reacted on instinct at seeing the lanky kid aim the shotgun in his direction and threw his knife as hard as he could. It lodged to the hilt in the kid's stomach, and the blast from the gun went high, missing him entirely. _Bleedin's still breathin'._ His boss was gonna hafta be okay with that. _Better 'im than me._

The entire encounter had taken less than ten minutes, from start to finish.

Radiant and Kelly arrived about forty minutes after the last of the bad guys left. They found Jayne, bleeding heavily, a knife not far away, barely conscious and clutching his dead family in his arms. The trail of blood smeared on the grass indicated he'd carried Kaida and Addie over to the pool. The red taint in the water, and Morley's sopping wet condition told their own story.

Jayne, contrary to his prayers and wishes, woke up a week later in the hospital. It hadn't been a nightmare, either. The only thing that kept him from following his family was that his mom and sister still needed him.

It took most of a year for them to get their feet back under them.

Then one night while Jayne sat staring in silence out on the homestead porch, Radiant settled herself onto the bench next to him. "Jayne?"

"Yeah?"

"Got a wave from the marshals. They moved it to cold case status."

Jayne's perpetual frown deepened.

Radiant reached over and turned her son's face so that she could look him in the eyes. "They gave up."

Knowing exactly how his mom felt, Jayne just nodded. "They did."

"Are you?" she asked.

His head shook slowly.

"Good," she said, patting his cheek. "You find them, baby. You find them and put them down. Make them hurt like they hurt us if you can. Make them suffer."

Jayne nodded. "I will. Even if I have to chase 'em to the end of the 'verse. I will."

Jayne started hunting the next day.

* * *

**A/N2:** I don't quite know why, but when I picture a young Jayne (keep in mind that Adam Baldwin was 40 when _Firefly_ first aired), I see Adam circa _Full Metal Jacket_, only without quite so much muscle-mass and a haircut like Sam wore in season three of _Supernatural_, minus the sideburns.

And yes, I had to give Jayne's tattoo meaning. Sickeningly sentimental meaning. I blame it on being born with girl-parts.

Please remember to lemme know what y'all think! Thankee kindly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**A/N:** Happy reading.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Four_

"…you're huntin' slime, ya gotta be able ta go where they's at. 'S why I do what I do. Tried just bein'…" Jayne trailed off, once again searching for the right words, then made a vague motion with his hands. "Well. Ya know what I'm tryin' ta get at, I'm sure."

Zoë wasn't completely sure what Jayne had tried to be at first, but could imagine it nonetheless; a young kid trying hard to find the men who'd destroyed his life. The merc's tale had left her with an odd feeling. She still felt scooped hollow, worse than at any time during the war, but… It was still just as intense, just as paralyzing, but there was this gossamer-thin veneer to it now. Might have just been knowing Jayne's words from earlier were truth – she wasn't the only one to ever lose someone. If anyone had asked her before what had happened at Mr. Universe's, she would have angrily asserted that she'd known loss before. Loss of her father, though he'd run off with a skinny bit of pretty when she'd been a kid, and last she knew was still alive out there somewhere. Loss of her mother because the Alliance hadn't seen fit to make sure there were adequate medicines available on the rim. Loss of fellow soldiers during the war. None of that had prepared her for losing Wash, though. And none of it could compare to what Jayne had been through. _It's no wonder he stayed out of the war. He was already fighting one._

Jayne suddenly stood, startling Zoë out of her thoughts. He strode over to where she sat at his desk and rummaged in the lowermost drawer for a moment, then came up with a battered capture film. Before the drawer got slammed shut, Zoë caught sight of a faded yellow page of the drawing paper she vaguely recalled from her own childhood, covered in crayon scribbles. She dragged her attention to the plastic sheet Jayne held. It was an old model, the only parts that were transparent were the bits that didn't have anything printed on it. Three of the four corners were jagged and worn away. The fourth was folded flat and mostly torn off. A crease neatly bisected the sheet, separating the two opaque rectangles on either side.

Jayne's eyes seemed to be staring through whatever was printed on the film. Zoë barely breathed, wondering what he was seeing in his mind, and noting that his expression bore almost no resemblance to the man she'd seen every day since meeting him. No humor of any sort, be it ghastly, grim, dirty, or otherwise wholly inappropriate, sparked across its surface. _He could be carved of granite, for all he's showing right now._ A memory of her own whipped through her mind: They'd just finished the job on Lilac, the one where the reavers had shown up. She'd been standing on the catwalk over the cargo bay, watching Jayne and Kaylee as they cleaned up the mess. Kaylee was only a little more subdued than her typical cheerful self, and had said, 'Shepherd Book said they was men that reached the edge of space, saw a vasty nothingness and just went bibbledy over it.' Jayne had replied in his typical way, 'Hell, I been to the edge. Just looked like more space.'

_If that really is true,_ Zoë shifted a little, the thought as uncomfortable as wet leather britches. _Might be it just looked like space because that 'vasty nothingness' was what was looking _out_, not being looked _at_._

Her slight shifting in her seat made Jayne's eyes dart her direction. What Zoë saw in them gave credence to her thoughts. They were flat, dark, like a doll's eyes, but deep back there was this low-burning rage, held in check by force of will alone. Wordlessly, Jayne handed her the battered capture, then slid back to his previous position, sitting on his bunk.

Zoë turned the battered sheet of plastic around and looked at it. It consisted of a pair of still photos. The one on the right showed a family of six. The man was exceedingly tall, blonde, and built like Jayne, with a similar cast to his features. The woman was also tall, but slender, with black hair and the same piercing blue eyes as her eldest son. The four kids in the photo ranged in age from about seven to seventeen. All three boys were tall for their ages, but she had to peer closely at the oldest – he bore little resemblance to the mercenary she knew, consisting of floppy, shaggy dark hair, and knees'n'elbows. The only one of the children that shared their father's fair coloring was the little girl.

The photo on the left was obviously taken later. The lanky kid had grown up a few years, layered on a few pounds of muscle that took away the gawky look of a half-grown colt, though he still sported the same shaggy hair and was nowhere near as bulky as he'd eventually become. Sitting on his shoulders was a chubby little boy wearing bib overalls and teeny boots, fists clenching tufts of his daddy's hair. Tucked up against her husband's side was a stunningly beautiful woman in a yellow sundress with hair like crow feathers and laughing almond-shaped eyes. She almost looked like a child standing next to the Jayne in the photo, were it not for her obviously-pregnant state. Zoë's fingertips traced the bulge and wished that the 'let's have a baby' argument was one she'd _not_ managed to lose.

"Did you get them?" she asked, her voice quiet, but packed with the emotion Jayne had eschewed in the telling of his tale.

"Of the six what came after me an' mine, three been counted. First was the one I managed ta shoot that day. Second wound up gettin' his durin' the war." A faint echo of satisfaction trickled into Jayne's voice.

"And the third?" Zoë asked.

A feral grin split Jayne's face. "He got his. Three times over, he got what was comin' to him."

"Do I want to know?"

"Ask Kaylee or Mal or even the doc, if he remembers it." Jayne's grin muted a little into something tinged with nostalgia. Noticing the confusion on Zoë's face – the expression actually fully there, not repressed or hidden, for the first time since Wash died – Jayne felt some small shred of relief that the hell he'd just put himself through, reliving the worst day of his life, actually did manage to help in some way. He clarified, "Remember Higgins' Moon?"

Zoë wasn't like to forget that particular job. Even with everything she'd learned about the merc, the weirdest thing ever was how that little community of indentures thought of him as their hero. She nodded.

"Anyone ever tell you what really happened?"

"Only that the money they wound up with was done by accident."

Jayne cocked his head to the side for a moment, then nodded decisively. "That tracks. Ain't the whole story, though. I'd found out one o' Stitch's crew'd been there that day. Got m'self hired on. Found their crew was just Stitch an' Jarkey. Knew the man I wanted had ta be one of them, but I didn't know which. So I kept my ears open, talked a lot 'bout other jobs I been on, got them ta do likewise. Six months I kept at 'em an' _nothin'_. Not 'til we robbed the magistrate. Jarkey was off, mindin' our ship. Me an' Stitch got in, grabbed the cash, an' got out, real clean-like. So's we thought. Didn't know Higgins had a silent alarm. Our plane got hit by an anti-air blast. We was goin' down, fast. Tossed ev'ry damn thing we could. Stitch runnin' off at the mouth the whole damn while, dunno what-all about. We was about thirty seconds from crashin' an' then he says, 'This ain't so bad, though – had a harder time liftin' from Silverhold. Managed ta take out that gorram marshal's fambly, but had a helluva time gettin' off-world. Had to drop the life-support, but we did it.' He was sayin' all this while unboltin' our own life-support. I'd just about been ready to toss the take when he said that. I changed m'mind and tossed _him_ instead. O' course, didn't much matter. Plane was still too heavy, so's I wound up tossin' the money anyways. Plane still wasn't light enough, so's I wound up jumpin', too, an' walkin' the last few miles back to Jarkey. Thought that was the end o' Stitch. Then we wound up back on Higgins' an' I find out he was still alive. Spent four years in a hot-box for the heist, though."

_That would make two. Being tossed from the plane and left for dead is one, the box is two. Didn't Mal mention Jayne beat the guy to death?_ Zoë was certain someone else would be disturbed by the cold manic glee on the merc's face as he told the story, but knowing the history behind Jayne's actions… Zoë just smiled a little.

"Four years weren't long enough, not by a long shot, but it had ta be enough. We was leavin' an' somehow I don't think the cap'n woulda wanted that hundan aboard, pa'ticularly not with what I had planned. Think Kaylee woulda wanted ta help some, just for how Stitch'd beat up the doc, an' that weren't gonna be kosherfied neither. Pro'ly best I did for 'im right there."

"What about the last three?"

Jayne shook his head. "Words an' whispers here an' there. Nothin' solid yet. Heard-tell one's doin' time in the 'Liance prison on Jiangyin."

One of Zoë's eyebrows crept up a little higher than the other. "So _that's_ why you push harder for off-time on Jiangyin than just about anywhere else." She smirked. "I'd just figured it was a favorite brothel that had your attention."

Jayne gave Zoë a faint reflection of her smirk. "'S what you're s'posed ta think."

"So all the time you go on and on about not getting any trim's just a cover?"

Jayne shook his head. "Nope. Not 'tall. A body's got needs. Don't see to 'em, like ta be a weapon what ain't been cleaned in a while an' jam up when it's really needed."

Zoë's smirk faded. _That makes a surprising amount of sense. Explains why he doesn't turn down food, and why he spends so much of his free time using those weights down in the cargo bay. I've seen how he cares for his guns, for his knives. Would make sense he takes care of himself in the same manner._

Any further conversation was halted by an announcement over the loudspeaker. "Would my first mate and the hired gun kindly join us for supper? Ain't gonna hold off no more an' I dunno about the others, but I don't plan ta save none if y'all don't show."

* * *

**A/N2:** When I originally had the idea for this fic, I'd wanted River to be the one who gets Jayne to talk about his past. However, that just didn't work – Jayne has too powerful an aversion to her reading ability for it to work well. Zoë winding up in this role is what surprised me.

Anyway, remember to let me know your thoughts and opinions. Thanks.

**Edit 01/17/2013:** Spotted a sentence with a forgotten word. Corrected it to read properly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** And another chapter for y'all. Hope ya like it.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Five_

They were still two days out from Persephone when Jayne woke to find his right eye was seeing things through a faint reddish haze. Peering closely at his reflection in the mirror above his sink, he also noticed that though he'd always before healed rapidly, the bruise from Kaylee's wrench was still visible, only just getting to the sickly yellow stage. Ignoring the bruise for the moment, he focused most of his awareness through his left eye, like he did when peering down a spotter-scope. He could see that his right eye was a little bloodshot, looking a lot like both tended to do after a night of hard drinking.

A fluttery thought caressed the back of his brain. _No,_ he dismissed it. _Can't be._ He shifted his attention to examining his fingertips in close detail. _They always been that shade?_ Never really having paid much attention to what color his hands tended to be, he couldn't answer his question. _But that nosebleed didn't come from nowhere._

He pummeled the mental voice back into its box. It didn't stop it from silently counting the credits stashed in the lock-box under his bunk, though.

Jayne stretched. Nothing hurt. Not even the remains of the bruise on his jaw. _See? I'm fine._

He got dressed and headed for the galley.

Two days later, Persephone was growing in the ship's windows. Jayne stood in the common area, watching River soundly trounce Kaylee and Simon at Chinese checkers. His eye didn't appear to be any worse, but he could barely see through it. Using his other senses to bolster the flagging sight had kept this small detail from the rest of the crew. _Pretty sure, anyways._

"Think the captain will give us some down-time on Persephone?" Simon asked, taking his turn.

"He'd better," Kaylee replied. "We got near on a week's worth of repairs that need doin'. If the cap'n don't wanna stick around for 'em, he's gonna hafta find hisself a new mechanic. The gossler coil in the gravity drive needs a complete overhaul. Dunno 'bout you, but _I_ surely don't wanna get stuck out in the black wi'out any art-grav."

"Now, there ain't no call for threats," Mal's voice came from the door on the other side of the galley. "Zoë's already made it clear we got some things need doin' while we're where they can be done. Figure on stayin' dirtside for a week." The captain headed for the kitchen cabinets and started poking through them. On finding nothing more than a single, half-gone block of protein, he grimaced. "S'pose I see why she was stressin' the restock angle."

About three hours later, Serenity settled down at the Eavesdown Docks. Everyone met up in the cargo bay, already knowing what their individual goals for the coming week were, but needing further information as to what their captain had in mind. Mal was the last to arrive, checking his pistol as he climbed down the last few stairs. "Me an' Zoë'll see to it Badger gets his cut of the proceeds. Jayne, you go with Kaylee, see if you can't get her a good deal on whatever parts she's after this time. Doc, I figure you an' your sis can look after yourselves for a while, but don't stray too far from the ship, not 'til either me'n'Zoë or Jayne gets back."

The orders were met with nearly no grumbling, as had been the case since Miranda. Zoë fell into step with Mal as they wormed their way through the crowds to Badger's place. Jayne and Kaylee headed in the opposite direction, towards the junkyards and their veritable treasure-trove of spare parts. Simon just sighed, watching them go, then settled himself on a sunny spot of the ramp, while River amused herself by dancing to the sound of a group of buskers playing nearby.

The time spent at Badger's was, as usual, both profitable and aggravating. Mal had wound up needing to turn down another job. "Doubtless it's got a heady sound of coin, sure," he'd told the man, "but we gotta have a li'l downtime. My mechanic's a right miracle-worker, true, but not even Kaylee can keep a ship in the air if she don't have the parts."

"Too bad," Badger replied, honest disappointment on his face. "I'll hold the job long's I can, lemme know if ya change your minds."

After leaving Badger's warren unmolested for turning down the job, some tension managed to leak out of Mal's frame. "Always a good thing to turn down his jobs, sir," Zoë said.

"And I didn't even have to lie about why not, either." Mal gave her a half-smile. "Wouldn't've taken this last one, if we'd any other nibbles. Do we have anything new lined up yet?"

Zoë shook her head. "Not yet. Much as it pains me to say, but we need a licensed pilot. Too many jobs out there are perfectly legal, but we've been passing up on them."

Mal sighed. "Reckon you're right. Our li'l albatross is a right fine flyer, but that don't change facts the girl ain't old enough to satisfy the 'Liance. Took a chance comin' here, even, an' I don't much care to think on what'll happen to our shiny lack of warrants if they's to come callin' before we can find us someone with the proper creds."

They didn't notice the small street-urchin following them through the course of their conversation. Likewise, they didn't see when the grubby child nodded to itself and slipped away in the crowd, then ducked into a converted cargo box. "Think I found what you was lookin' for, miss," the child babbled out even before the drapery standing in lieu of a door swung fully shut.

The _tink_ of a thumb flipping a coin to the child was the only reply. The kid caught it and the coin disappeared into a pocket. "They was comin' from Badger's. Needs a licensed pilot, 'cause the pilot they got ain't old 'nuff."

"And do you know where they're docked?"

The kid nodded. "They's here pretty regular. Run a Firefly."

There was the sound of rustling movement in the shadowed recesses of the cheap apartment. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"Their mechanic's a girl," the ten year old replied. "An' they's one o' the few freighters what gots they's own doctor on board."

A light laugh came from the shadows. "You did good, Casey. Stay here and guard our meager things, will you?"

Casey nodded again, pulling a small, but wickedly-sharp knife from the sheath hidden under his ragged jacket. "They's in berth 27-A."

Nearly an hour away by foot in the heavy traffic of the docks, Kaylee and Jayne were finishing up negotiations with the owner of Kaylee's favorite junkyard. After informing the man where to have the parts delivered, they also headed back to the ship. They arrived to find Zoë sweeping the cargo hold. "Where's Simon and River?" Kaylee asked.

"Mal took them to see about getting us restocked in the infirmary and the kitchen," Zoë replied. "River mentioned we should see about refueling while we're here, too."

"Didn't we just do that on Jiangyin?"

Zoë nodded. "We did. But she was pretty adamant about it."

"Pro'ly one of those moonbrained notions of hers," Jayne grumbled, ignoring the dirty looks both women leveled in his direction. "Anythin' else need me for? Or can I go?"

"Those 'moonbrained notions' of River's has saved us all more 'an a time or two, Jayne!" Kaylee punctuated her comment with a poke in the big man's bicep.

He rolled his eyes, making the one clouded in red that no one but himself could see ache slightly. The suspicion he'd been nursing grew exponentially at the faint twinge of pain. "Know that, Kaylee." He looked at Zoë. "Can I go?"

Zoë shrugged her eyebrows. "Be back for dinner. Don't know if Mal has any further use for you."

Jayne bid them farewell with a light lecherous grin, hoping it looked more enthusiastic than it felt. "Lot can be done 'tween now an' dinner. See ya later."

As soon as his back was turned the smile evaporated. He mentally checked in with his lower right leg, which assured him that his money-pouch was still safely secured within his boot, and strode off in the general direction of Katy's, a brothel he was known to frequent whenever Serenity happened to be dirtside on this particular rock. Once the ship was lost in the crowds behind him, though, he changed course and headed in a completely different direction.

Zoë watched Jayne disappear into the crowd, a nameless worry tickling the back of her mind. "Kaylee?"

"Yeah?" the mechanic replied.

"Think you can mind the ship? I've got an errand needs doing."

"No problem," she chirped.

Zoë handed Kaylee the broom and set out after Jayne.

* * *

**A/N2:** Since I can't find anything that says otherwise, I'm running under the assumptions that since Wash had gone to flight school, this 'verse has some sort of system of accreditation for spaceship pilots. Yeah, we all know River's more than capable of flying Serenity, but I doubt she's got an actual license for doing so.

Please remember to lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** And another chapter for your reading pleasure.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Six_

Zoë nearly missed it when Jayne veered away from the direction of Katy's, even though she'd been half-expecting the maneuver. The dockside area was busier than normal, and even with Jayne's freakishly tall, massive self, there were just too many folks around. Zoë wound up having to close a little more distance between herself and the mercenary. _If he's out trolling for intel on those that killed his family…_ the thought trailed off, replaced by a steely determination to help the merc, whether he wanted it or not.

It surprised her, however, when Jayne entered a building sporting a sign for 'Dr. Baker', rather than any one of the dozen seedy bars they had passed. _Why's he going there? We got Simon on board…_ A slow smirk tugged at her face. _Unless it's something he don't want us to know about. Maybe one of those li'l problems picked up from his preferred bedmates that usually wind up painfully embarrassing. _It made a twisted sort of sense. For all that Simon was bound by all the same confidentiality oaths as any doctor, Zoë couldn't see the kid being able to keep from needling Jayne about an STD.

Satisfied with her assumption on Jayne's problem and his motivations for not going to Simon, Zoë decided to leave him to it. Figuring she might as well get a head-start on locating a licensed pilot, she headed to the public-access cortex nestled up against the side-wall of Dr. Baker's office. Like most of the cortex terminals in the area, this one was tucked back in an alcove and covered in the grime of countless fingers. She'd just entered in her search parameters when Jayne's voice, distant and tinny-sounding, seemed to speak just behind her. She twisted around and spotted a vent in the wall only a couple of feet from the terminal.

"…can't see proper, doc, but it's just the one side."

Another voice spoke next, older and just a bit more refined. "And you say that bruise shoulda healed by now?"

"Yeah, doc. Weren't more 'an a pound or two o' force. A wrench flipped up when we was movin' stuff. Shoulda been an' gone in two, three days. It's done been near on three _weeks_ now."

Zoë abandoned the cortex and slid over to stand next to the vent. _This doesn't sound like what I thought it was gonna be._

"Anything else?" the doctor asked.

"Gotta nosebleed 'bout ten days ago. Bad one. Medic on the ship had ta burn the vein closed."

Inside the doctor's office, Jayne sat on a wobbly exam table. His boots, socks, shirt, and gunbelt were piled on a bench next to the door. Dr. Baker, a man who was probably a couple of years older than Shepherd Book would have been had he lived, was an old acquaintance of Jayne's. He'd been seeing Baker for various injuries over the last ten years and trusted the man far more than the squirrelly kid Mal'd picked up, not the least because Baker had yet to drug him into motionlessness just to prove a point.

Baker picked up a small instrument that had a bright pin-light at one end. He stepped over to Jayne and used one hand to hold Jayne's eyelids out of the way, then peered through the instrument. "Look up for me, Cobb," the doctor said. "Now left. Right. Down." Jayne followed the instructions.

"Whacha seein'?"

The doctor repeated the procedure on Jayne's left eye. "Hmm…"

"That a good hmm or a bad hmm?"

"Just a hmm hmm," Baker replied, then switched to an instrument with a slightly different shape. "This is probably gonna be a mite uncomfortable, but I wanna see what your medic did," he said.

The teeny probe was snaked up Jayne's nose. He grasped the edge of the exam table with a white-knuckled grip and forced himself not to sneeze. _Gorram thing tickles like hell._ The inside of his nose was displayed on a small monitor on the wall to Jayne's right. Since he'd never seen the inside of his own nose before, Jayne hadn't a clue as to whether or not what the probe was showing was right or not.

Removing the probe, the doctor made a couple of notes, then asked, "You been fightin' recent?"

Jayne shook his head. "Not for near-on a month now. Even that was just a li'l fight, more like a tussle."

Baker chuckled. "I seen your idea of a tussle, Cobb. But I'll take your word it wasn't so bad as that." He grabbed a new instrument from his table of supplied. "Hold out your hand," he ordered.

Jayne knew what was coming and handed the doc his left. His right was still white-knuckling the table. _Why's it I can be shot, stabbed, an' whaled on in a fight, but that finger-jab the docs're so fond of makes my skin crawl?_ He couldn't quite repress the wince when the machine's lancet pricked his index finger and drew a drop of blood.

Baker hit a couple of buttons to tell the gadget what he wanted it to test for, then started speaking while it compiled data-points. "The cauterization was well-done, you oughta thank your medic. Not too many folks have a steady enough hand for the tiny vessels like that one."

"What 'bout my eye?"

"That's somewhat more of a problem. As far as I can tell, you ruptured one of the veins in your retina."

"My what-na?"

"The part of your eye that actually sees. Your eye's full of blood, Jayne."

The mercenary shivered a little, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. One of the main reasons he preferred Baker was that the man actually kept his office a little warmer than a fully-clothed person found comfortable – another big reason was that Baker actually made the effort _not_ to use medi-speak. "Don't sound shiny."

The doctor nodded. "It ain't. Only a coupla things can cause that. Main one's gettin' smacked hard in the face, but if that was what caused it, then you'd have one helluva black eye. Second reason also don't fit you – if a person's got really high blood-pressure, it can sometimes make little veins and arteries burst. But your pressure's always been textbook perfect, except today, an' today it's runnin' _lower_ than normal."

Though the doc's words were perfectly understandable, they weren't all that reassuring. "If that ain't what caused it, then what?"

The little machine beeped and interrupted them. The doc read the results and frowned. "Disease," he said.

That little flutter of suspicion grew in strength and was now a percussive hammer at the back of Jayne's mind. He swallowed hard, his mouth dryer than dust. "Which?"

Dr. Baker dragged his eyes up to meet those of his patient. "Ruby fever."

Jayne closed his eyes and swallowed again. "Ain't… There ain't no doubt on that?" He re-opened his eyes.

"None whatsoever," Baker replied, his own face a study in sympathy. "But… I think you knew that already."

Jayne nodded, the movement barely there. "Reckon so. Didn't wanna think it, but was the only thing I knew what fit."

Baker laid a hand on Jayne's shoulder. The warmth and weight of it was somewhat reassuring, but did nothing to close the gaping chasm that had suddenly opened beneath Jayne's feet. "You know there's not much I can do, right?"

Jayne nodded minutely again. "Know that. What I don't is what you _can_ do." He leveled a determined look at the doctor.

"First off, we'll drain the blood out of your eye. If it's not quit bleeding on its own, I'll repair it the same way your medic did your nose."

"Then what?"

"Then… Well, untreated, you got, at most, eight weeks. With treatment, you might can stretch that out to about three, maybe three-and-a-half months. Either way…" Baker trailed off.

Jayne could finish that sentence his own self. _Either way, I'm dead afore year's end_.

Back outside, Zoë felt like she'd been dunked in ice-water. _Ruby fever? Isn't that the one that crystallizes your blood cells, turns them into teeny-tiny shards of glass?_ No one had taken her place at the cortex yet, so she returned to it. Instead of looking for a new pilot, though, she pulled up a general entry on ruby fever.

_**Ruby Fever** (Kurohaima). A contracted disease which is caused by a biohazard safety level 2 virus of the filoviridae family. Unlike the other viral diseases in the filoviridae family (see **Ebola**, **Marburg** for more information), Kurohaima is non-communicable from person to person, save through direct blood contact. The virus behind the illness targets red blood cells and crystallizes them. Once crystallized, the cells then cause massive internal damage to the capillaries and internal organs of the host. It is rare among humans, with only 2,513 cases reported system-wide in the last five years. Kurohaima's origins are currently unknown, but common belief is that it is contracted through eating contaminated meats, specifically dog or cat meat. The Kurohaima virus can remain undetected in the body of its host for several years before symptoms present themselves; it is this long incubation period that is responsible for the current mystery as to its origins. Once symptoms present, if left untreated, the infected individual has 5-8 weeks before the damage done is too great and death is imminent. If treated, this time span can be increased to a maximum of five months. There is no known cure for Kurohaima._

"O, zhe zhen shi ge kuaile de jinzhan…" Zoë breathed the words, unaware they'd even escaped her mind.

* * *

**A/N2:** I completely made up 'ruby fever'. I hope any real medicos out there will forgive me for it, but there really wasn't anything already out there that I knew about that really fitted what I wanted to do with this story.

Please remember to review, it's the only payment we get for posting, y'know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Ruddy freakin' Queen song's stuck in my head now. Twenty points if you can correctly guess which one I'm talking about.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Seven_

She hung back, listening to a band of buskers playing for tips while she observed the people that called Serenity home. _Ship isn't much to look at, but I know better than most that looks are mostly deceiving._ She bought a cone of chestnuts from a passing vendor and tossed her change in the busker's till, calling a request for _Caitlyn_ – a rather popular and fast-paced song that had dull and uninspired lyrics, but had a great rhythm going for it.

_I'd imagine that the clean-cut one's the doctor. Seems mighty young to be an actual doctor, though. Rumors do like to grow, however. He's probably just a common medic with delusions of adequacy. Heaven knows, adequacy alone is rare enough on some of the outer planets._ The young man in question wore grey slacks, a matching vest, and a stark white button-down. The only concession he made for the labor in which he was participating – the schlepping of crates from a trailer pulled by a four-wheeler – was that his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow.

Of the two women, _Hardly more than girls, either of them_, it was patiently obvious that the taller one wearing the coveralls with a teddy bear patch on one knee was the mechanic. _Not too sure what role the shorter one has. _The other man present, wearing a faded red shirt, brown trousers, and suspenders, overlaid with a worn-looking gun belt, finished unloading the trailer and motioned for the mechanic to pull it into the ship. He'd held back a small wooden box, however, and before long, the mechanic was back outside and peeking on tiptoe over his shoulders. Laughing, he handed the box over, and both girls swarmed it. _Strawberries._ The thought made her mouth water. _Haven't had fresh fruit in what feels like forever._

Almost unnoticed, the afternoon sunlight took on a slightly golden hue that indicated evening was just about upon them. _I'll make my offer. They seem like reasonable people. No ship that sails with two little girls like them would take slime on board._ She finished her chestnuts and was just about to head over to introduce herself when two more members of the crew showed up, coming from slightly different directions. _Now who would these folk be? The big one has the look of a mercenary. The woman, too, for that matter, though I haven't met a merc yet that actually liked that sort of gun. Might be ex-military; they tend to get issued a Mare's Leg and then never let go of it._

Crumpling the wax-paper cone her snack had come in, she tossed it casually aside and strolled up. "Howdy, folks. Right fine day, isn't it?"

Mal's laughter at Kaylee's antics to keep River away from her newly-acquired box of strawberry goodness evaporated, but the smile remained. He turned around and spotted a woman that was roughly about the same age as he was, with short, spiky blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and wearing a shiny black, skin-tight jumpsuit that showed off more than just a little cleavage. She stood about two inches shorter than Zoë and had a slightly apprehensive smile on her face. "That it is," Mal agreed. "I'm Captain Malcolm Reynolds, and this here is Serenity. What can I do for you?"

The woman's smile relaxed a little. _Talking to my face and not my tits. Good sign._ "Might be I can do something for you, captain. I heard-tell you were looking for a licensed pilot. Any truth to that rumor?"

His crew congealed behind him, with the dark-skinned maybe-ex-soldier standing next to him. "Could be," Mal said. "Depends on where you heard this rumor."

The woman shrugged. "Say something in public, it'll come back as a rumor. Just wanted to know if it had managed to get blown all out of proportion before I heard it. If it has," she sighed. "Well, if it has, then I suppose I'll need to keep looking." She could tell from body-language that most of the crew hadn't been made aware of the captain's desire for a new pilot, though there were two exceptions: The maybe-ex-soldier was stoic, but still displayed no shred of surprise. The big mercenary was frowning at something behind and to the left of where she was standing, his hands fidgeting with a small canvas satchel. _Definitely hope Casey was right about this. Not even the hired muscle is ogling. Got to be good people._

"Let's say I was thinkin' maybehaps we do need a pilot." Mal held up his hand, "Not sayin' as we do or don't just yet, just that might be we could use someone with shiny Alliance-acceptable credentials. What makes you think we need you?"

The woman smirked. "Well, my family's been pilots since Earth-that-Was. Going on thirty generations now. I can handle anything from a simple two-man skiff right up to a Devon-class cruiser if needs be. Ran Blue Sun's Ariel to Osiris cruise line for a year, right out of school, but got sick of the back-and-forth runs. After, I took up with their freighter transport, until that go se company left us stranded out near Hera a few years back. Since then, I've been flitting from transport to transport, trying to find a good fit."

Mal and Zoë exchanged a look. A nearly-indecipherable nod from Zoë and Mal looked back at the newcomer. "Ever fly a Firefly?"

"Can't say that I have," she said. "But I've heard nothing but good things about them. I've ridden in one, though, back when I was a kid. My mom piloted one for Greyson Industries until they decided to upgrade to the Atlas."

The mechanic scowled, but the medic caught it and laid a hand on her shoulder. Mal exchanged another look with Zoë, followed by another nod. "Could be we might be needin' a pilot at that," Mal allowed. "Kaylee!" He didn't look away from the blonde. "That thingamajig you aim to fix while we're here, will it do us for a test loop?"

The mechanic nodded enthusiastically. "Surely so, cap'n. Just won't get us nowhere else is all."

Mal stepped to one side and made an 'after you' gesture with his arm. "Button up, people, we're goin' for a test-run." The majority of the crew scattered once inside, though the merc simply found a crate to sit on in the cargo bay. The dark-skinned woman lead the way to the bridge. The captain followed close on the newcomer's heels.

On reaching the bridge, the blonde stopped short at the sight of the plastic dinosaurs ringing the pilot's station. One of her eyebrows crept a little higher than the other. "You have a problem with the dinos?" the dark-skinned woman asked, a threatening edge in her voice.

The newcomer smiled at her and shook her head. "Not at all. Just wondering why there isn't a quetzalcoatlus. I mean, it doesn't make sense for there to be a t-rex and a stegosaur, but none of the flying dinosaurs, not at the pilot's chair." Her honest reply managed to startle a laugh from Mal, which was cut off just as quickly by Zoë's dirty look.

The test flight ran smoothly and before an hour had passed, Serenity was parked dirtside once more. One last look was traded between Mal and Zoë, then Mal hit the loudspeaker. "Would everyone kindly join me in the galley?"

The captain lead the way to a cheerfully yellow kitchen and waited until everyone was present before speaking. "Guys, you all know we been 'thout a licensed pilot for a while now, meanin' we ain't been takin' as many jobs as we coulda. That ends now," he gestured to the blonde. "Meet our new pilot."

The woman waved at them. "Oriole Cambry, at your service," she said. The mechanic returned her wave with an overly-cheerful one of her own.

"This is Zoë Washburne, my first mate," Mal indicated the dark-skinned woman. "That's Dr. Simon Tam, ship's medic," he pointed to the kid in the vest. "Next to him is Kaylee Frye, our mechanic. On her other side is River Tam, Simon's little sister and a heck of a fine pilot in her own right, but too young yet ta satisfy the 'Liance." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to point out the mercenary. "And that one's Jayne Cobb."

Hearing his name jerked the merc out of whatever was occupying his mind. "What?"

"Just an introduction, sweetie," Oriole said, leaning a little to speak around the captain. "Nothing important."

Mal glanced over his shoulder at his hired gun and noticed that the big guy seemed preoccupied with something. _So long as he keeps to the rules. Hands off the female crew, 'less they invite it, an' even then, it stays outta my sight._ He returned his attention to Oriole. "We're stayin' dirtside until Tuesday. I expect to see your papers before we lift, dong ma?"

"Wu dong," Oriole replied.

"You're welcome to stay aboard, if you want, else meet back here at 0700 to hash out the details."

"Thank you," the blonde said. "I look forward to getting to know all of you. I'll return tomorrow morning."

After Oriole departed, Kaylee and Simon set to unpacking their groceries. Zoë headed to the bridge to see if she could track down a job for them that wasn't in any way, shape, or form associated with Badger. Jayne headed to his bunk. Mal sidled up next to River, a little apprehensive as to what her reaction might be. "I like her," River said, squashing his fears that she might be angry. "Her mind's quiet."

Mal wrinkled his forehead. _Does that mean she's stupid?_ River pierced him with the look she usually reserved for when her brother was being particularly obtuse. "Don't be an idiot. Quiet, still, like a lake on a calm day. Discipline, not a lack of depth. Even thrown pebbles don't make many waves, and most simply skip across the surface."

"I ain't even gonna try to suss all that out, 'tross. She ain't anything I need to worry over none, is she?"

River shook her head. "She is not Alliance. Everything she told you is truth. Closest she's ever come to serving the Alliance was when she worked for Blue Sun, and that was simply because Blue Sun will ship to anyone who pays for the service."

Like most of the mega-corporations, Mal knew that Blue Sun had stayed out of the politics of the war. More than one shipment to his own troops had been handled by the conglomerate. "Good to know," he said, then headed off to see where they stood on resupply.

Sequestered in his bunk, Jayne finally quit fidgeting with the pack that Dr. Baker had given him. He opened it and went through its contents, one-by-one. There was a reusable injection-gun. A rainbow of vials. A less-complicated version of the little medical gadget that Baker'd used to diagnose him. And a small box containing a single-use syringe, pre-loaded with a clear liquid that was some strange shade between purple and blue. _Almost looks like watered-down ink._ He snapped the box closed and returned it to its place in the satchel.

After tucking the satchel into the drawer on his desk that contained a collection of letters from home, his few tattered photographs, and a couple of drawings Morley had made a lifetime ago, Jayne stood in front of the mirror that hung above where his sink pulled out of the wall. He inspected his eye for any evidence of the doc's work, only to find that the doc had been his usual, efficient self. The only evidence was when the eye was viewed from the inside – a small patch of his field-of-vision, shaped somewhat like a serpent or a piece of string or maybe a squiggle of crayon on cheap drawing paper, floated at just about the ten o'clock position, slightly less than halfway down. Jayne thought it seemed most like the aftereffect of looking at a bright light, but knew this spot wouldn't fade with time.

The blind-spot was there to stay.

* * *

**A/N2:** Just in case y'all were wondering, I was going to be a paleontologist until I was 13 and figured out that I was crap at math, but liked telling stories. Quetzalcoatlus is a kick-ass dino. It had a 36-foot wingspan and weighed in at about 300 pounds. Definitely _not_ something I would want to see in the flesh! Condors are bad enough *shiver*.

If anyone reading this actually read my NCIS fic _Sand, Sun, and Sotol_, you might recognize the name Cambry. This was not an accident. Just so ya, y'know, know an' all.

Please remember to lemme know how I'm doin'. Danke muchly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Happy reading.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Eight_

Jayne's eyes slowly peeled themselves open to reveal the inside of his bunk. It was rare that bad dreams didn't visit, and the night before definitely didn't consist of any bad dreams. He couldn't quite remember what he _had_ dreamt about, but the faint scent of cinnamon and apples followed him into the waking world. He stretched, listening to his muscles and bones for any new aches and pains. The only thing that caught his attention was his left shoulder, and that was just an old injury that liked to act up anytime he was dirtside – about two years after leaving home, he'd been shot, a through-and-through, that had left a hole in his shoulder blade the same circumference as his thumb.

_Really want a shower, but since we're stayin' dirtside a week, I know Mal's gonna want the tanks flushed afore we go. May as well do that today, get it outta the way. Ain't no sense in showerin' first._ He grabbed the stained coverall he used for the really messy work aboard ship from his closet cubby and slid it on over his boxers and bare feet, then put on the same pair of socks he'd worn the day before, along with his boots. After tending his full bladder, he stood next to his ladder and paused. _Somethin' I'm forgettin'…?_ His eyes flicked over his bunk. All his girls were present and accounted for, his bed was made, his dirty laundry stashed away. _Need ta see 'bout gettin' that cleaned while we's here._ The thought flickered in and out of his head almost too fast to capture. Then his eyes landed on his desk. The strap of the satchel Dr. Baker had given him poked out of the drawer like an accusing finger.

The day before flooded his mind. His shoulders slumped and he sidled over to the desk, falling heavily on the chair. He pulled the drawer open and yanked the satchel out. _Never did like needles._ Opening the satchel, he stared at the neatly arranged contents for several long minutes. Baker had shown him how to use the injection gun – probably the only bit of gadgetry in the 'verse with 'gun' in its name he hadn't already known how to use. Sighing, he unstrapped it from its place, then pulled the vials of medications and lined them up in order on the surface of his desk. "Red first," he muttered to himself.

The doc hadn't bothered telling him the names of the medications; he knew Jayne well enough that those details weren't important. He did warn him, however, to take care of the labels on the vials. If he ran out, he'd need the names to get more. Jayne slid the vial of medication that looked like really good red wine into the gun, twisted the dial on the back of it to a microscopically-etched '10', then took a deep breath. _Come on, ain't gonna get any easier for puttin' off, an' you got more after this._ He unzipped the coverall and slid his left arm out. 'The red one needs to go in a vein,' Baker's voice said in his mind. 'The best ones are the ones on the inside of your forearms, but anywhere you can see one under the surface of your skin will do nicely.'

Jayne grit his teeth and pushed the tip of the gun against one of the blue squiggles on his arm, then squeezed the trigger. A quiet _snick_ noise was immediately followed by a sharp sting, only a little worse than a mosquito bite. The gun itself made a very high-pitched whine that meant it was already auto-sterilizing the needle. As had been the case back in the doctor's office, Jayne could actually feel the medication hit his bloodstream. It was a strange warmth that tickled slightly. Not unpleasant, in and of itself, but distinctly unsettling.

He removed the vial of red medicine and slid it into its pocket in the satchel. "Now clear."

He worked his way through each of the medications, hearing Baker's instructions in his mind as he did so. An antiviral and two immuno-boosters and two types of medical plastic, all designed to either try to slow down the bug that he'd managed to land himself with or to mitigate the damage it was already doing. The last of the six vials contained a milky white liquid. It was also the only medicine Baker had provided him that Jayne already knew the name of. Opianax. It was a powerful painkiller, one of the ones that doctors liked to hand out like candy whenever a body had some grievous injury, but tended to screw a person up beyond all definition of the word when the injury was healed.

The vial he held could be sold for nearly three hundred platinum on the black market. But Jayne knew he wasn't going to sell it. Baker had been extremely adamant that he would need it, and probably some day soon, as the grains of glass in his blood increased in number and tore him apart from the inside. _But today ain't that day._ He returned it to the satchel.

After replacing the bag in his desk, Jayne took a moment to look over his left arm. Five tiny holes were definitely visible, scattered among the ones from yesterday. _Gonna need ta figure out somewhere else ta use the gun. Can't keep doin' this an' wearin' my t-shirts an' keep it ta m'self. Ain't nobody's business but m'own. But it looks bad. Don't need Mal spacin' me 'cause he thinks I'm some xiniu junky._ He pulled the sleeve of his coverall back on.

On standing, he was hit by one of the side-effects. His room seemed to twist sharply around to the left. Jayne grabbed the edge of his desk and closed his eyes. "Gorram it, Jayne. _Slow_. You know that already. _Slow_ 'til it wears off." Once the room stopped spinning crazily, he carefully moved over to the ladder and exited his bunk.

It was only just barely six in the morning and Jayne found the galley deserted. Checking the chore-sheet taped to a cabinet he saw that Simon had breakfast duty. Jayne grimaced. _Boy still can't cook worth a damn_. He poked through the supplies that had been purchased yesterday. _No way in hell am I gonna let that kid ruin real food._ The groceries were all from the farmers' market at the end of the docks – eggs, ham, berries, apples, bundles of dried herbs, jars of seasonings and jams, carrots and lettuce and peppers and onions. Milk and flour and sugar. A block of cheese. Nary a single can or block of protein in the bunch. _No tomatoes, neither._ It was only a small flash of disappointment, but then he recalled that River had mentioned they could get tomatoes from Book's old abbey. Jayne mentally put that on his to-do list for the week.

He put the last of the coffee-substitute on to boil, then got to work. Part of the ham and a couple peppers and onions were quickly diced into bite-sized pieces. Half the block of cheese was shredded. A batch of pancake batter was mixed up, complete with the addition of a basket of raspberries. Jayne was just finishing up the omelets when the rest of the crew started drifting in.

"Weren't your day to cook," Mal mentioned, helping himself to the almost-coffee.

Jayne shrugged. "You think I was gonna let Simon ruin real grub?"

Mal let out a snort. "Good point."

"Hey!" Simon protested from his place at the table.

"Shush," Kaylee patted him on the arm. "You know it's true." She speared a pancake off the stack while Jayne sat the platter of omelets next to it. "This is really good, Jayne!" she mumbled around a full mouth, but still managed to get across her surprise.

Jayne shrugged again and fell into his seat. "Ya think all them meals the shepherd an' me did was all his doin'?"

Kaylee blushed a little, then returned her attention to their meal. Simon helped himself to a pancake and an omelet, then echoed the sentiment. "This _is_ pretty good." Jayne glared at him. Simon just stared right back. "I mean, better than normal."

"Rarely got real food on board," Jayne grumbled. "An' when we do, Kaylee tends ta beat us all to the cookin' of it. There's only so many ways ya can take protein an' try an' make it edible." Jayne picked at his own meal. He wasn't particularly hungry. _Another of those gorram side-effects._ He noticed River watching him closely. "What you lookin' at?" he griped at her.

"You're an onion," she replied, then poured honey on her pancake.

"An' you're still crazy," Jayne snapped back.

Zoë chose that moment to appear from belowdecks. Behind her was the blonde from the day before, a very heavy-looking duffle slung over one shoulder and a guitar case in her other hand. Today, the blonde was wearing a plain brown skirt, knee-high boots, and a thick grey sweater. "What smells so good?" Oriole asked.

"Breakfast," Mal replied. "Pull up a chair an' dig in before it gets cold."

* * *

**A/N2:** I've always thought Jayne was a good cook, though there isn't much in the way of canon to support this assumption.

Please remember to review, iffen it suits ya. I do so much love ta hear if I'm doin' well or even if anythin' needs fixin'. Muchas gracias.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** A lepidopterist is someone who studies butterflies and moths. I only point this out now because I realize the term is not one commonly found in day-to-day life, and the first two times I stumbled on the word, I had to look it up.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Nine_

Jayne had disappeared rather quickly, leaving most of his breakfast uneaten. Zoë was the only one who noticed that little detail, though. A cold grip seemed wrapped around her chest, nearly as bad as the one that had seized her on seeing that sharpened tree-trunk pin her husband to his chair like some sort of superior specimen in a lepidopterist's collection. _Wonder if it's the news he got yesterday or if it's something else?_ The thought barely made it through her mind's repeating of _three months three months three months_.

For all that she hadn't trusted Jayne when they hired him out from under his previous employer, Zoë was having difficulty imagining life aboard Serenity without his crass presence. And this latest bit of news coming on top of what she now knew about his past… _Can't he get a break? At all? _

Her earlier determination to help him in his mission to seek out the men who'd taken his family resolved itself into something a bit more clear. She finished her own breakfast idly agreeing with everyone else that it was far better than she would have suspected of the mercenary. Just as she was about to take her dishes over to the sink, River beat her to it. "It's my day for clean-up," the girl said, peering at Zoë through her hair. "You found a temporary north. Stopped the needle spinning." A small smile softened the girl's face for a moment, then she and the empty dishes disappeared.

Zoë excused herself from the table, most of the others barely noticing, chatting with their latest acquisition. Oriole seemed a little overwhelmed by the attention, but Zoë figured she'd fit in well enough once she had time to find her feet. She headed in the direction Jayne had taken, down to the cargo bay. She'd expected to find him there, taking out frustrations on the punching-bag hanging under the stairs, or using his weights. He wasn't there, but the faint noise of high-pressure water pinging off of metal told her where she could find him.

She strolled down the ramp, noticing that the day was overcast and there was the feel of moisture in the air that heralded a storm in the not-too-distant future, then wandered around to the access ports for the ship's water and waste tanks. The strong stench of the waste tank indicated Jayne had already drained it and the hiss of a high-pressure hose told her he'd crawled inside and was rinsing the… chunky bits out. Just the thought was enough to knock Zoë a little lightheaded, tossing her back into some particularly nightmarish memories of the war. She stayed far enough from the portal to be able to avoid the majority of the stench by breathing through her mouth.

After only about twenty minutes of waiting, the hose noise ceased, and Jayne's boots appeared in the hatch, followed swiftly by the rest of him. He was damp from the waist up and soaked from the waist down, a pair of goggles making his short hair stick up in strange ways along the back of his head. Even without being able to see his eyes, Zoë could tell he wasn't feeling himself. He was moving slowly, to start with, lacking his customary assured grace. Jayne closed the hatch and resealed it, then moved over to the port for the fresh water tank. He attached a drain-pipe, then flipped a lever for it to do its thing. After about a minute, the pipe began sucking air, so he disconnected it and attached the blue-colored one that indicated potable water.

Every few seconds, he'd cease moving completely, then turn his head slightly to the left, let out an explosive sigh, shake his head, and go back to what he'd been doing. It took nearly ten repetitions of this odd quirk before it dawned on Zoë what he was doing. _It's that blank spot the doctor said he'd have. He's not used to it yet._

"You just gonna stand there an' stare at me all day?" Jayne suddenly asked, startling her from her thoughts.

"Not sure what to say, Jayne," Zoë truthfully replied. "I followed you yesterday. Thought you might be out huntin' info on those men…"

Jayne finally looked over at her, pushing his goggles onto his forehead. "You know." It wasn't a question.

Zoë nodded. "Didn't mean to hear, but that doctor's got a vent to the alley next door, right next to a public cortex."

Jayne's forehead wrinkled and he rubbed lightly at his temples. Zoë usually only saw him do that when he was hungover. "Cao ni zuzong shiba dai," he grumbled under his breath. A little dinging noise indicated the tank was full, and he angrily knocked the lever down to turn off the flow. "Weren't nobody's business but m'own."

Zoë nodded again and stepped a little closer to him. "I know, but I can't say I'm sorry I know. Were you going to tell us? Or just wait for us to find you dead in your bunk one morning?"

Jayne paused in disconnecting the hose from the ship and looked over at her again, his face unreadable. "Ain't gonna happen that way."

"Oh? And how's it going to work, then?"

"Gonna do what I can, as I can. Then, if I manage to finish, I'm goin' home." He finished disconnecting the hose and let go of it to retract back to its storage place.

"Wo de ma," Zoë muttered with closed eyes. "God save us all from stubborn men." She opened her eyes and shook her head at the mercenary. "You won't be able to do it all by yourself."

"Been doin' fine so far." He turned and leaned against Serenity's hull as another bout of dizziness hit him.

Zoë quirked an eyebrow at his sudden sway. "Ain't doubting that, Jayne, just pointing out you ain't got as much time to finish it as before. Just offering a hand. I can find us _something_ that takes us back to Jiangyin, something that won't make Mal ask questions."

Blatant skepticism flashed across Jayne's face. "You'd do that?" he asked, suddenly quiet, all trace of belligerence gone.

Zoë nodded. "And I can't promise anything, but I _do_ know one of the guards at the prison. He owes me a favor. Might be I can get you in to see the guy you're after."

Jayne looked sharply at her. "Really?"

She continued as though he hadn't said anything, "And if it turns out he's really one of them, I know for a fact the guards can be cheaply bought into looking the other way, should someone manage to shank him in the yard."

Jayne scrubbed a hand through his hair, snagging the strap of his goggles in the process and tearing them off. Switching them to his other hand, he toyed with them for a moment before returning his attention to Serenity's first mate. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"What're you gettin' outta helpin' me?" he translated the essence of his question into something more concrete.

"Truth?"

"Almost always for the best, even if it does tend ta piss folks off."

_That right there is Jayne in a nutshell._ A tiny smile cracked her solemn face. "Partly… I need something to do. Wash…" her voice hitched on his name. "Wash was always so good at distraction, and we were together long enough I think I've forgotten how to pass the time without him."

"An' the other part?"

_Definitely not as stupid as his actions would claim._ "An apology."

His confused expression was nothing new to Zoë, though she'd bet real cashy money that this time it was completely honest and not something used to deflect conversation or further entrench the 'I'm-just-a-dumb-merc' persona. "Thought ya already did. The chocolate."

"Not for yelling at you," Zoë could have smiled, but didn't. "For how we treated you."

"Weren't nothin' wrong with that," Jayne replied, knowing she was referring to his first few months aboard ship. "'Specially seein' as ta how ya hired me on. Can't say that shootin' a former employer's a good way ta give notice when a better offer comes along, but I knew that when I did it. Didn't expect none o' ya ta trust me none, _ever_. Ain't the way a merc runs."

Zoë made a small gesture that seemed to say 'you may have a point'. "Doesn't excuse the fact that Mal and I kept on treating you that way."

Jayne shrugged. "Didn't bother me none. Still don't. I chose my path, an' I don't aim ta be regrettin' none of it. Made m'peace with who I had ta become a long time ago." He didn't mention that a goodly portion of that peace was knowing his own mom had set him on this path, and what with his mom and Kaida having been so close, not even the ghostly voice of his wife that served as his conscience had any qualms with his life.

"Be that as it may, Jayne," Zoë was starting to get a little irritated at the man's blasé dismissal of her guilty feelings. "Shoulda been able to see through your hunzhang, particularly after all you did when the catalyzer blew. No one was payin' you to close off the seals, to reroute the available air to the bridge, nor to set out the exosuit for Mal." She'd wound up with a pretty accurate description of the events in question from Kaylee, Mal, and Inara. "And you actually _paid_ when Niska took Wash and Mal."

"I had m'reasons for that," Jayne interrupted, feeling all sorts of uncomfortableness seeping into his bones from Zoë's recitation of what she saw as his good deeds. "An' they sure as hell ain't as noble as you're thinkin'."

The anger in his tone was easily interpreted as his usual reaction to any emotion that might remotely be considered 'unmanly', but Zoë was at a loss to explain the guilt shading his eyes. _I hope I can get the full story on that someday, but now's not the time._ "Fine, I'll give you that. But that still don't change the fact you voluntarily came with us through reaver space. I know they're probably the only things in the 'verse that actually scares you. I've seen how your hands shake when we've had close calls, so don't try and argue none on it."

"Hell, Zoë. Ain't nobody sane in the whole gorram 'verse that ain't scared o' reavers. 'Ceptin' those dumbass hundans who don't believe in 'em, o' course," the last bit was tagged on like an afterthought.

The pair fell into a somewhat uneasy silence that lasted for more than just a few breaths. Eventually, Zoë sighed. "So, you going to let me help you out?"

Remembering he wasn't quite finished with his self-appointed task, he turned around and hit the button to seal the fresh water tank's port, then closed the access panel. _She made some good points, Jayne,_ Kaida's voice tickled the back of his mind. _You _don't_ have all the time in the 'verse. An' it ain't gonna be a bullet or a knife._ He nodded to the echo of his wife, then turned back to face Zoë. "Maybehaps you got a point on the time-crunch."

The lingering remains of a tension she didn't realize she'd been carrying drained out of Zoë. "Good."

Jayne held up a hand. "One thing, though."

"Name it."

"The rest o' the crew don't find out about it. None of it. Not 'less it becomes absolutely necessary. M'past is mine, nobody else's business. An' I don't want fussin' on that other thing."

"That why you didn't go to Simon?" Zoë asked, honestly curious as to why he'd gone to Dr. Baker.

Jayne nodded. "Partly," the tiniest of smiles twitched his goatee. "Mostly it's 'cause I was pretty sure what it was. Kid's a good doc, sure, but he ain't learned a coupla hard lessons yet."

"Which lessons?"

"No matter how good he might be, he ain't learned he can't save ev'rybody. I ain't gonna be the one to make him realize that. Better if he learns it on someone he ain't lived with this last year."

"That all?" _That's far sweeter than I would have thought Jayne capable of even three weeks ago. But then again, I should be getting used to the fact that the dumb-as-mud-merc routine is just that, a fake-out, something to keep people at arm's length. He's surprisingly sentimental. And he'd probably want to deck me if he could hear these thoughts._ She repressed an urge to grin.

Jayne shrugged, unaware of her thoughts, and added, "He can't stop hisself from speakin' medic at folks, too. Drives me up the gorram wall. Baker's been patchin' up mercs long enough that he knows ta talk plain an' straight."

Zoë managed a little laugh, knowing _exactly_ what Jayne meant – she'd had her own times when she wanted to shake Simon until he stopped yammering in medispeak. "I guess I can see your points. And you're right – Simon wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to cure you."

"So… You'll help?"

Zoë nodded. "And I won't tell anyone, not unless it becomes necessary. Even then, I'll try to check with you first. Won't promise on that score, though. But if possible, I'll ask."

Though Jayne wanted to argue the point, he could all too easily imagine scenarios where knowledge of the virus he carried might need to be passed along without his okay. "More 'an I deserve," he muttered, unaware the thought had been spoken aloud. "Okay," he said, meeting Zoë's eyes. "What's the plan?"

* * *

**A/N2:** I don't know why I'm surprised, but Wikipedia has a particularly lovely list of Chinese cussing. It's all filthy and pretty and such; makes me want to cuddle it all close. I suggest everyone go have a look-see.

Please review, if you've a notion to do so. I love getting feedback.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Just a reminder – still not romance.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Ten_

The remaining time spent on Persephone passed far too slowly for Jayne's taste, but he managed to keep himself busy. Kaylee worked her little heart out in repairing the ship's artificial gravity drive, and finished a whole day ahead of when she had estimated. All the needed restocking had been done, and Zoë lived up to her word – now they had a licensed pilot, it only took her a couple of hours of poking around to land a nice, legal cargo of mobile cortex connections and other assorted computer bits to take to Jiangyin which would pay a pretty sum on delivery, too. The only thing bugging Jayne about it all was the three weeks it was going to take to get there.

And bug him it did. To the point that he'd managed to pass his irritation off onto the rest of the crew, one by one. With all his girls clean enough to eat with and his knives in a similar state, he didn't have anything to do – not with the gorram medications messing up his balance all the damn time. His energy kept on building and his mouth just wouldn't stop running and he'd even managed to cause Kaylee to burst into tears during dinner one night, which he felt bad about, but try as he might, the edginess wearing on him wasn't something he could help. The only member of the crew who actively tried not to get insulted by his behavior was Zoë, and that was simply because she figured it was just an odd, but very Jayne, way of dealing with his rapidly-approaching death.

Everything came to a head one evening, still five nights out from landfall. They'd just finished dinner and Oriole was gathering the dishes. During the time since leaving Persephone, Oriole's wardrobe had tended to loose skirts that were just past knee-length and thick, baggy sweaters. On this day, however, she was wearing a pair of dungarees only slightly looser than the skin-tight suit she'd worn that first day, paired with a soft blue t-shirt. Simon and Kaylee were trying to talk the captain into playing cards while Zoë watched and River picked at the last few shreds of food on her plate. The only warning anyone got was River's voice saying, "I wouldn't do that," before the noisy clatter of wooden and metal dishes being dropped startled everyone out of their chairs.

Immediately following was a hiss of pain, and Jayne's voice repeating 'ow, ow, ow,' over and over again. By the time their eyes managed to comprehend what they were seeing, Oriole was speaking. "Grab my ass again, Cobb, and I'll cut off your jiba and feed it to you." One of her hands was clutching his right ear, the other had his elbow and was pushing it up his back towards his shoulder blades. "Dong ma?"

"Yes! Whatever ya want, Oriole. Sorry an' it ain't gonna happen again!"

Oriole let go of him. "Good," she said, her voice approaching Kaylee's normal level of cheerfulness. Jayne got to his feet and fled to his bunk. The rest of the crew just stared at Oriole. "What?" she asked. "I have eight brothers. Most of them are bigger than he is," she jerked a thumb in the direction Jayne had gone.

While the others laughed in disbelief, River slipped away from the galley and down to her room. Being what she was, none of the crew had any secrets from her, they'd all but shouted them at her every day since she woke up from the cryo box. For example, she knew the tight black catsuit that Oriole wore when looking for a job was so that she had an easy way to tell when a crew wasn't worth signing up with – particularly if the men she talked to spoke to her breasts and not her face, and doubly-so if anyone actually tried touching her. She knew what nightmares haunted the captain and how they subtly differed from similar memories Zoë had. She even, unwillingly, knew all of Kaylee's erogenous zones – something that even her brother had a hard time keeping straight. So she also knew what was weighing on Jayne's mind, and it wasn't what Zoë thought.

_He's still in denial, lying to himself that he's accepted it. Sure, he's accepted that he was going to die a long time ago, the first time he got shot. He's even prayed for death on more than one occasion. But this isn't something he's ever really thought about. He'd always figured that he would wind up catching a bullet or a knife in the back. Since the catalyzer blew, he's even entertained the thought that he might die in some sort of accident. But sickness? That's never once crossed his mind, save for idle thoughts on illness being how the old and weak die. He's not yet realized that disease doesn't care how old or strong you are and that it is what will kill him._

The thoughts flitted through her mind in a matter of microseconds. She dug through the various cubbies in her quarters, looking for a particular cardboard box. She'd purchased it shortly after Miranda, then abruptly forgot she even had it.

_No, it's not Kurohaima that has him acting this way. It's pre-fight jitters. Normally, he doesn't get enough notice prior to a fight for him to get nervous, and what little nervous energy builds beforehand is always burned off during the event itself. This time, though, he's got weeks of notice and a marked lack of ability to burn off that energy in constructive ways. The pentazonithal gives him dizzy spells while the amoxytrosin keeps him from feeling hungry, which adds to the lightheadedness, so he can't trust that he won't cause himself any harm if he takes his energy to his weights or the punching bag. He really ought to make himself eat more. It would help._

She finally located the box she was looking for at the back of one of the drawers under her bunk. Grasping it firmly with both hands, she hurried back to the galley where Zoë, Mal, Kaylee, and Simon were now playing cards while Oriole washed up the dinner dishes. None of them paid her any mind as she passed through the room, towards the crew's quarters.

Jayne was pacing his bunk like a caged tiger and making himself dizzy in the process since it was only four long strides from one end of his bunk to the other. A tentative knock on his hatch halted his steps and he had to reach for the corner of his desk because that gorram medication kicked his sense of balance again. "Ta shi kaifang de," he called out once the room quit spinning. River dropped lightly into the room, not bothering to use the ladder at all. Jayne scowled at her. "What the hell you want, moony?"

She cocked her head to one side and blinked at him. "I was wrong."

Jayne sighed and thought about telling her to just get out, but she'd managed to poke his curiosity. "What about? Thought you was the genius. Didn't think a genius could be wrong."

"One's comparative level of intelligence means little in the grand scheme of things," River replied. Jayne took that to mean that even smart folk could be wrong about things. River smiled at him. "You're not an onion. Even though you can make a person cry and your appeal is rather an acquired taste, your inside layers are bigger than your outside layers."

Jayne had no idea what she was talking about. Not uncommon an occurrence for anyone flying on Serenity. "Shen me niao?"

She let out a small laugh. "You need a distraction." She held up the box she was carrying. "I provide."

The side of the box showed a crowded underwater scene of brightly-colored fish and coral and other things Jayne couldn't even begin to name. The Chinese characters were a little easier to decipher. _Universe's Largest Jigsaw Puzzle! 50,000 Pieces! Days of Fun for the Whole Family!_ Under that, in smaller writing, were the dimensions of the finished puzzle. _30 feet by 10 feet._ Jayne let out a low whistle. "Impressive distraction, but I ain't one for puzzles, girl. Now, gundan. Go on," he made a shooing motion in her direction. "Git."

She ignored the command. "But you _are_ good with puzzles. Every time you acquire a new gun, you can break it down for cleaning and reassemble it without need of its manual. A jigsaw would be even easier, as it only builds in two directions, not three."

_I got the feelin' she ain't gonna let go of this one._ Jayne sighed.

River smirked at him. "I will wait for you in the common area."

As she disappeared up his ladder, Jayne shook his head in exasperation. _Gorram ruttin' moonbrained –_

"Don't finish that thought!" River's voice echoed towards him.

Several hours later, the card game in the galley wound to a close. Kaylee stretched and yawned. "I'm gonna check the engines, then turn in for the night," she said, heading for the door. She got as far as the corridor that branched off and lead down to the infirmary and common area before halting in her steps. She could hear music. _That ain't what River usually dances to. She likes that fancy music, like was at the ball Mal took me to._ What was playing was the music she knew best. Homestyle, with plenty of guitar and fiddle. She rushed through her check of the engines then hurried down the side-passage. She came to a dead stop not even partway down the stairs.

River was resting on her stomach, her ankles crossed and hovering over her rear end, toes twitching to the beat of the song. Her hands were deftly picking up piece after piece of what seemed to be a puzzle and fitting them into place. Not six feet away, Jayne sat on the floor, a pile of puzzle pieces mounded next to him. His eyes were closed and he hummed along to the music while his hands dipped into the pile of pieces and came up with one that fit the growing piece of finished puzzle laid out face-down on the coffee table.

Kaylee's mouth dropped open, then she sprinted back to the galley. "Guys! Guys! Ya gotta come see this!"

"What?" Mal asked, only a little concerned. "My ship about to blow up or somethin'?"

Kaylee just shook her head and latched on to his arm with one hand and Simon's arm with the other, dragging them behind her. Amused, Zoë followed. Oriole was already on the bridge, making her own last-minute checks of the systems before retiring for the night.

"Now that's disturbing on a whole host of levels," Simon muttered on seeing what Kaylee had wanted them to look at.

"Can't say as I disagree none, doc," Mal replied with a melodramatic shiver to punctuate the comment.

Standing behind them, Zoë just rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm for one impressed." Three faces turned to stare at the first mate like she'd just grown a third eyeball. "What? Like any of you can put together a jigsaw without lookin'. Besides, they're bein' quiet and they ain't in anyone's way. I say leave 'em be." She turned and headed back to the galley, leaving the captain, doctor, and mechanic gaping after her.

* * *

**A/N2:** I'm a little uneasy with my portrayal of River. I know that fanon seems to have it that she speaks in third person, but I don't know why – she didn't really do that much on either the show or the movie.

Anyway, remember to lemme know what y'all're thinkin'. Thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** This woulda got posted earlier, but I got side-tracked by reading nonjon's _Browncoat, Green Eyes_ yesterday (crossover with Harry Potter). It's a pretty entertaining read and it surprised me how well nonjon pulled off the meshing of the two vastly different 'verses. Anyway, on with the show!

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Eleven_

They were due to land on Jiangyin the next day, at noon local time, which translated to somewhere in the neighborhood of five in the evening ship's time. Landing was still just over twelve hours away, and despite the early hour, Zoë was awake. She stood at the foot of the bed she'd shared with Wash, noticing that things had started to become dusty. Always before when she'd screwed up enough courage to face the memories this room held, she'd wound up nearly drowning in his aftershave and the smell of his sweat. This morning, however… All she could smell was dust. The room felt colder than normal, though the air itself seemed unpleasantly thick.

She turned and opened the wardrobe, intent on finding a jacket or a sweater to combat the chill. It didn't even cross her mind to adjust the climate controls for the room. Her eyes landed on Wash's shirts, their riotous color bringing a small sad smile to her face. _He had most of them when we met, but that one with the flamingoes on it… he bought that one just to irritate me. It was what? Maybe three weeks after Mal hired him? Yeah, that sounds about right._ Memories of Wash played out in her head: Times he'd made her laugh. Times he'd made her angry by trying to make her laugh. Times when it was all she could do to keep up with his twisted, childlike logic. Playing cards. Playing with his dinos. Coming up with more than half the rules for the game everyone played in the cargo bay with the heavy ball and the old hoop dangling from the ceiling and that _still_ didn't have a proper name, only knowing what was being asked about when someone said 'wanna play' and tossed that heavy ball at your head. The way he could keep calm during the tensest of situations, then panic as soon as there wasn't any piloting left to be done.

An odd noise interrupted the flow of her thoughts. She realized with a start that somehow all of Wash's shirts were now folded neatly on the edge of her bed. Except the flamingo one with the splashes of blue and palm-tree prints. That one she was wearing like a jacket. She could _almost_ hear Wash laughing at her. Zoë let out a huff of amusement at herself and pulled off the shirt. She started to fold it and put it with the rest, but changed her mind. She slipped it back over her shoulders.

The strange noise that had interrupted her repeated. Stilling completely, Zoë strained her ears. _What was that?_ When she heard it once more, she realized it was coming from the room next door. _I have never heard anything quite that high-pitched come out of Jayne's room before._ It almost sounded like the squeaking of a rat. _But not quite_. Zoë gave up trying to figure out what it might be and climbed into the corridor.

She knocked at Jayne's door, but got no answer.

At some point during the night Jayne's entire universe had narrowed to just his fingertips. It felt as though someone was alternatively frying, flaying, and freezing them, with some added moments of acid-bathing just for kicks. When the pain managed to let up for brief moments and his mind was capable of rational thought, he would invariably ask himself _How can somethin' I can't even _see_ hurt like this?_ He'd been shot and stabbed and shocked and beaten and had bones broken and dislocated and all other manner of injuries done to his personage. Always before, unless there was concussion or blood loss, he'd been able to _move_. But now? The pain, concentrated in just the pads of his fingertips, was flaring with such intensity he could barely _breathe_. _Not even gettin' racked in the jewels hurts like this._

He didn't hear Zoë knock. Nor did he notice when she punched in the override code and let herself in while saying, "You better not sleep naked, Jayne." He didn't even know he was no longer alone until something barely brushed against the tips of the fingers of his right hand.

Zoë froze at the sound Jayne made. For a moment, she thought it was in response to her switching on his bunk light, but with how tightly his eyes were squeezed shut, she'd be surprised if a supernova could have gotten through his lids. His forehead was wrinkled and his jaw was clenched tighter than his eyes, and since his eyes had lines radiating back far enough they disappeared under his hair, that really was saying something. She was somewhat relieved to note that he did indeed wear clothing to bed – his boxers, black cotton and sprinkled with little yellow smiley-faces, and the t-shirt she recalled him wearing at dinner. Jayne was laying on his right side, his knees pulled against his chest, and his arms tucked close, but his hands were crossed at the wrist and dangling off the edge of his bunk. A mostly-unnoticed observation that Jayne was far more flexible than his size would normally indicate whipped through Zoë's mind as she reached down and laid a hand on Jayne's forearm. The stray corner of Wash's shirt that had caught on his exposed fingers when she'd reached over him to hit the switch for the light fell away as she did so. "Jayne?" His skin was cooler to the touch than she'd expected and she could feel him trembling.

The small stuttery noise that came through his teeth in reply bore no resemblance to language, but it contained enough consonants that Zoë could make a good guess as to what he'd said. _Hurts_. She straightened and looked around his bunk. She knew that Dr. Baker had given him a painkiller with the other medications he'd received that day on Persephone, but had no idea where Jayne was keeping it. She started by checking the cabinet behind the mirror. All it contained was a straight razor and a toothbrush only just starting to show signs of wear. She moved on to the weird-shaped cubby that pulled out from under the control panel next to the ladder only to be met with Jayne's dirty laundry. _Damn it._

Another strange squeaky noise came from Jayne's direction. It made the hair on Zoë's arms stand up. _It's not loud enough to warrant the word, but why does that sound like screaming?_ Picking up the pace a little, she tried the desk next. _Success!_ She grabbed the little black satchel and opened it. Not having had the benefit of the visuals during Dr. Baker's little speech on what each vial was for, Zoë had to pull them out to check the labels, then frantically search her brain trying to see if the name meant anything to her. None of them did, until she got to the white vial. Opianax. More commonly known on the street as simply 'drops'.

Zoë snagged the vial and the injection gun, then turned to Jayne while sliding the vial into the port on the gun. She had to pause as she looked from the dosage-dial to Jayne and back. _How much?_ She shook her head and set the dial to '1'. _If it's not enough, I can always dose him again. It's a little harder to fix it if I give him too much. _She pushed the tip of the gun against the side of his neck and pulled the trigger.

The sting of the needle almost didn't register in Jayne's mind, but the flooding sensation of prickly heat spreading down his neck did. He had no idea how long it took, but eventually that sensation made it to his fingertips.

Zoë could see the dose she'd given him had _some_ effect, but wasn't sure if it was enough. His face slowly relaxed, followed by the rest of him. After about five minutes, he finally opened his eyes. "Zo'?"

"You alright?"

He uncurled and sat up, trying not to use his hands at all, before answering. "Think so." Peering at his fingertips, he saw that they looked a little redder than normal, like a faint sunburn or steam-scald. "Funny," he muttered.

"What?"

"Still hurts," he replied looking back at her. "Jus' don' care that it does." He blinked, long and slow. "Wha' ya doin' 'ere? I oversleep or sumthin'?"

Zoë shook her head. "No, it's not even six yet. I was up and heard something weird, thought you might need a hand."

He snorted with a smile. "Nah, nee' a pair o'em. Nah jus' one."

_If he's this stoned on just a level one dose, I'm _really_ glad I didn't give him any more._ "Even if that puzzle of River's is all sorts of shiny, I somehow don't think it was a good idea," she said, ignoring his attempt at humor.

He nodded owlishly. "'S pretty shiny. All 'em fish. Girl learn me all th'names o'em. Proper names, too, an' nah th' sky-in-traffic ones." Zoë figured he meant _scientific_. _Not sure if that's just Jayne or if it's because of the drug, though._ "'Er's yella tangs, an' triggerfish, an' damselfish, an' clownfish, an' sea hosses, an' an'…" He trailed off into a yawn.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, Jayne? I'll stop by when breakfast's ready."

"Soun's good, Zo'…" He closed his eyes and Zoë was positive he'd fallen asleep sitting up even before she made it to the ladder.

* * *

**A/N2:** I based Jayne's reaction to Opianax (made-up) off of my own reactions to opiates (all taken quite legally, post-surgery). And before anyone challenges me on Jayne not being flexible – I suggest you watch 'Ariel' again, specifically the scene where Jayne attacks the guards. Only someone that's pretty damn flexible can pull that trick of switching what side their hands are handcuffed on (without taking off said cuffs, of course).

Please lemme know whacha like or don't like about the story. Thanks in advance.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Keeping in mind that I usually only consider canon to be the actual series and movie (not the books or any of the other tie-in work), I'm not altogether certain just how long Mal's had Serenity (I know it's less than 6 years from the pilot), nor how long Jayne's been a member of the crew. Ergo, I have – gasp, shock – made things up as I see fit. If anyone has a better notion as to the right timeframe, shoot me a review letting me know. Thanks in advance.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twelve_

The completed puzzle Jayne and River had worked on for the better part of the last four days was now glued to the formerly-empty swath of ceiling above the dining table – probably the only place on the entire ship that was an even, if slightly curved, surface lacking in projections and lighting fixtures. The fixtures fit right against its sides. Zoë had helped Kaylee and River glue it in place the previous evening, while Simon was double-checking the infirmary to see if there was anything he needed to pick up when they landed and Mal was off… doing no-doubt captainy things.

River was lying on the table, staring up at her handiwork when Zoë left Jayne and headed to the galley. "He should tell Simon," River said, her voice quiet.

Had it been anyone else, Zoë would have asked what they were talking about. But since it was River, she just sighed. "I know, but he has his reasons."

River pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I wouldn't have forced the puzzle on him if I thought it was going to hurt him."

"I know. You couldn't have known it would. It's just a puzzle."

"If he did them like normal it probably wouldn't have. But he sees with his hands and with all the corners and points it bruised him. I forgot he likes to see with his hands." Her voice was still soft, but it had taken on a tone that clearly said she was taking all the blame for Jayne's suffering.

"It's not your fault," Zoë tried to comfort the girl, but was uncertain how successful she was at it. It had been too long since she'd last tried to comfort anybody. "It's nobody's fault."

River shook her head. "Not true. The man who gave him the curse of tiny red knives is to blame for it."

"Who?"

The teen looked through Zoë. "On Deadwood. He was dying and hated it. Wanted to make people suffer like he did. Bled himself into the ground meat. Served it to all comers."

Realizing that River was seeing what had happened, where Jayne had caught ruby fever, Zoë pressed for a little more detail. "Who was it, River?"

"Owned a little restaurant. Infected two hundred before he died. Some have already died from other reasons. But they all will succumb in the end. All that lives will die and he was just the instrument. A long fuse."

Frowning a little, Zoë tried another track. "How long ago was it, River?"

"Five interplanetary years, plus-or-minus a score of days of the same measure, depending on if you wish to count from now or from when first symptoms appeared." Relief that it had happened long before Jayne had joined Serenity swept through Zoë. _So it's not likely to happen to us._ The relief was quickly swept away by irrational guilt at the thought. River narrowed her eyes and actually looked _at_ Zoë. "You shouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Feel guilty for being grateful it's not you."

"You can't just wish away a feeling, River. I can't help how I feel."

"You can't?" One of River's eyebrows twitched a little higher than the other. "Or is it simply you need to appease your conscious and _won't_?" The girl climbed down off the table and left the room before Zoë could reply.

_How is it that she seems to get both saner and crazier with every passing day?_ Zoë pushed aside the conversation in order to focus on making breakfast. Before long, Oriole joined her. "Mornin'," the blonde yawned, reaching for the kettle and pouring herself a cup of tea. "I managed to shave a few hours off the arrival-time, and we should be coming up on Jiangyin in about six hours or so."

Back in his bunk, Jayne drifted in a pleasant state of not-caring. He wasn't certain, but he thought Zoë might have made a reappearance at some point. His fingertips still burned and ached, but the Opinax made it so he simply didn't give a damn. It was a bizarre sensation – to feel something and not care one way or the other about it. It was nearly as odd as the strange wavering in his sight that made it look like the walls were _breathing_. "Kaylee always did talk like the ship was alive," he muttered. "Looks like she was right."

The scent of green-flavored protein drifted on the air. "S'pose 'at means breakfast's ready." He tried to stand, but managed to trip over himself by way of simply forgetting to use his right leg.

"Huh." He untangled himself from the heap he'd become on the floor, then crawled over to his desk. The injection gun was laying on its surface, still holding the vial of Opianax. He pulled himself into the chair, making his fingers start up a chorus of screaming that he could easily ignore.

Fumbling, he managed to remove the vial of milky white liquid from the gun. It took three tries to get the red vial of amoxytrosin locked in place. With exaggerated care, he twisted the dial to the proper dosage and then aimed the tip at one of the veins he could see in his leg. He pulled the trigger, wincing out of habit.

In the galley, everyone else had convened for breakfast and to go over the last-minute details for the job that day. Mal took his seat and looked around. "Where's Jayne?"

"Probably overslept, sir," Zoë replied. "I'll go get him." She started to stand up, but Mal shook his head.

"No, sit down, Zoë." He stood, frowning. "_I'll_ go get him."

_Fantastic,_ Zoë thought. _He's in his 'I'm-gonna-be-angry-for-no-good-reason' mood._ "That's alright, sir, I'll do it." She attempted to stand again.

Mal glared at her. "Zoë. Sit. Eat your breakfast." His voice immediately threw her back in time to when she'd been bound to take his orders like a good soldier and not just a crewmember of a space-freighter.

_Zhishi wo de yunqi_, Zoë's own frown slipped into place. _I know I've thought this before, but can't Jayne catch a break?_ She ignored Mal's 'suggestion' and followed him.

Jayne had just locked the last vial into the gun – a strangely cheerful and slightly opaque yellow color – when he heard his hatch bang open. Some part of himself that remained unaffected by the Opianax registered Mal's voice as something he should really be concerned about, but he was too focused on his task to bother. He lined up the tip of the gun with a new place on his leg and hit the trigger, vaguely registering the sound of boots on his ladder.

Mal emerged into Jayne's bunk in time to see his mercenary set down an injection gun and start slowly moving colored vials into elasticized pockets within a black canvas pouch. "Zhe daodi shi shenme kuaile de hushuo!" He quickly covered the distance between himself and Jayne, then reached out and knocked the vial out of the mercenary's hand. He grabbed Jayne's wrist and yanked the man's arm, wanting to get him to stand, but only succeeding in spinning the chair around.

The abrupt motion made Jayne blanch. _'S bad enough by itself, don't need no help makin' me more dizzy._ He closed his eyes and waited both for Mal's inevitable shouting to start and the queasy feeling to fade.

Mal was just about to start in on a strongly-worded lecture, which would have likely come out primarily in Chinese, when his seldom-used reason actually kicked in. Jayne was pale, more so than normal for someone who rarely saw the sun, and sported a faintly greenish tinge. His t-shirt was also looser than Mal remembered it being and he suddenly realized Jayne had been wearing his camo-print hoodie as a jacket for the past few weeks, instead of wandering about in shirtsleeves as was normal. He let go of Jayne's arm. "You open your mouth, you gonna barf on me?"

"Maybe," Jayne admitted, his eyes still closed.

Mal could see numerous track-marks of varying ages scattered across both of Jayne's legs. _This is bad, and I don't think it's what I thought it was at first glance._ He heard Zoë's light footsteps descending the ladder. "Close the door, Zoë," he ordered, most of his irritation from earlier gone. After she did so and joined the pair of them, Mal looked from his second mate to his hired gun and back. "Take it you knew 'bout this?"

"Yes, sir," Zoë replied.

"What _is_ this?" Mal asked.

Jayne finally opened his eyes and stared up at his captain. "Ruby fever," he stated.

"Wo de tian, a," Mal muttered.

Jayne snorted. "Not hardly. Jus' some piss-poor luck. Story of m'life."

"Simon know about this?" Mal ignored the aside.

Jayne shook his head as Zoë said, "No, sir."

"Why the hell not? Seems like something the ship's _doctor _ought ta know about!"

Zoë opened her mouth to reply, but stopped at Jayne's 'hold-that-thought' gesture. "Tell you what I tol' Zoë here. Kid's a good doc, sure, but there ain't _nothin'_ he can do about this that I ain't already doin'. An' you know well as me that he'd _try_. Ain't learned yet he can't save ev'ryone. Rather he didn't learn it from me."

Mal opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. Zoë had to stifle a grin at his goldfish impression and wondered if she'd looked that ridiculous when Jayne had told her the same thing. The captain flicked a half-hearted glare in Zoë's direction – he'd seen the twitch that said she was grinning even if her expression hadn't actually changed – then refocused on Jayne. "Won't be able to keep it from him forever."

"I know," Jayne sighed. "Not askin' for it ta be permanent none, just a li'l more time."

"How much time?"

Jayne shrugged. "Let ya know."

"Fair enough. You gonna be alright to work?" Mal asked.

Jayne nodded. At Mal's frankly skeptical expression, the merc clarified, "Was just a _really_ bad night. I'll let ya know if I can't do m'job."

Mal wondered if he could trust Jayne to be able to know if, or more likely _when_, that would happen, then figured it didn't much matter. It would wind up being fairly obvious. "I'll hold ya to that."

* * *

**A/N2:** I'd originally intended for Mal to go off all half-cocked on one of his assumptions and throw Jayne in the airlock. But the characters in my head were rather mutinous at the idea, so I had to rework it a little. I actually like how it worked out better this way.

Please review if you like. If not, thanks for reading anyway! I do keep tabs on my hit-counters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** I had the unfortunate experience of standing too close to someone who'd just been given a safety whistle by her overprotective parents and just _had _to try it out. I do _not_ advise it. The label says '180 decibels' for a reason.

This chapter's just a little bit of fluff. I needed it, though, because the story's about to start running down some very dark paths.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Thirteen_

The job went down like most of their legal ones did – with nary a hitch and a decent payment that included a bonus for being earlier than expected. Mal had gone through the entire encounter with one eye on his mercenary and the other on their client. The faintly green tinge Jayne'd had in his bunk was gone, and even the man's slight loss of weight wasn't noticeable, not while wearing that heavy canvas coat of his. And if there were a few more lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes, then that could be expected. After all, Jayne was pushing thirty-seven, and in the life of a gun-for-hire, that's something that just didn't happen without a bit of premature aging. That all made perfect sense in Mal's mind, particularly when he tried to look at the situation as though he'd not learned what he had that morning.

And so, once Mal, Zoë, and Jayne returned to Serenity with a bundle of fresh credits, Mal was all for finding them a new job and heading back to work, half-formed notions of maybe figuring out where Jayne hailed from and if he was like to want to drop by home for a spell. His vague ideas were grounded when, on divvying up their take, Zoë met his eyes and said, "I've an errand to run while we're here, sir. Do you mind if I commandeer Jayne for the afternoon?"

The last time Zoë had made a request for 'commandeering' one of the crew had been about two months before Mal had accidentally walked in on her and Wash making use of an empty passenger dorm. So he really couldn't help the flicker of surprise that flashed through his eyes. On seeing it, Zoë's expression shifted slightly to one of indignation. A twitch of an eyebrow seemed to be calling him all sorts of nasty names, while a slight narrowing of her eyes said, 'Of course I have better taste than that, you gorram fengle man! This isn't exactly about _me_!'

It was probably a very, very good thing that the pair of them could communicate so much, so quickly. He just nodded his head. "Any idea how long you'll be?" _Probably need to find medications for Jayne, then. I wish them luck and low prices._

"Shouldn't be more than a few hours, sir," Zoë replied. "I'll take a com-unit with us and call if there's any change in plans."

Not five minutes after Zoë and Jayne left, Oriole appeared with a bright red whistle in her hand. "You might want to plug your ears, captain. This is going to be _extremely_ loud."

She didn't give him a chance to reply before lifting the whistle to her lips and blowing hard through it. She hadn't been lying. The deceptively small whistle let out a shriek that set Mal's ears ringing and brought Kaylee running from the engine room. "Daodi shi shenme, wo de feichuan baozha!? Women bei tunshi biyinao!?"

Simultaneously, Simon came running from the opposite direction. "Who blew the kidnap alert!?"

Oriole removed the whistle from her lips and blinked at it. "Is that what this is called?" She shrugged. "No matter. Give me a couple of minutes, please?" The blonde was wearing another soft t-shirt – done up in pale pink with a stylized cherry tree in bloom screen printed on it – but today it was pared with an ankle-length red skirt made up of some sort of crinkly fabric and her typical knee-high boots. She strolled to the end of the ramp and seemed to be content to wait, basking in the sunlight.

Kaylee rushed down the stairs and exchanged looks with Simon. "What the hell?" she muttered.

Simon shrugged. "Don't look at me."

They both approached Mal, who was trying valiantly to equalize the pressure in the ear that had been closest to the whistle. "Captain?" Simon tried to get his attention.

"Gorram thing's worse than a flash-bang!" Mal said. Or rather, he _thought_ he said it, but with his ears ringing so badly, he wasn't entirely certain. _And judging from the way the doc just winced, I don't think it was as quiet as I wanted._

"Kaylee, would you get my bag?" Simon asked.

She returned in short order, then stood back to watch as Simon checked both of Mal's ears, positioning herself so she could see Oriole, too. Using the portable cortex he carried in the bag, he typed in a quick note for Mal to read. _No permanent damage done, though it might take a day or two for the tinnitus to clear up. If your ears begin bleeding or you don't gradually begin to regain your hearing, let me know._

"Ain't that just so shenhua ban de he teshu de!" Mal exploded. "Oriole! What the gorram hell you just do to me?" He paused for breath, "And _why_?" With his hearing temporarily out of commission, his inflection was all over the place and both Kaylee and Simon had to hide smiles at the unmistakably whiny note on the last word.

The three of them turned their full attention to the blonde. "Hey, I warned you to cover your ears, captain." Further explanations were halted as a dockrat ran up to her and threw skinny, dirty arms around Oriole's waist. "Ah! Tilly! You're still here, sweetheart. How's your momma doing?"

The waif grinned up at Oriole. "Better 'an last time ya was here, miss. Sends her thankees to ya."

Oriole waved off the thanks. "Don't fret on it, little one. You looking for work?"

The girl, who could only be six or seven years old, let out a weary sigh. "Ain't I always?"

"Good. How about you take this and find us some decent eats. Enough for seven grown-ups for, say, five good meals. No mystery-meats this time, though. Beef, goat, or chicken would be preferable." She handed the girl about half of the cash she carried.

Tilly counted the money and peered up at Oriole. "Too much here."

"Ah, possibly so, love. Tell you what, you also manage to find me a new set of guitar strings, too – good steel ones – and the change, however much is left, is yours to keep. Deal?"

The girl grinned, showing off one missing front tooth and one that was only half-grown. "Deal!"

Once the urchin was gone, Oriole looked back at her crewmates. "What were you saying?"

"What was that?" Simon asked, ignoring Mal's increasingly irate demands that _someone tell me what the gorram hell's goin' on around here_.

"That was Tilly," Oriole explained, her face faintly puzzled. "She's going shopping for me. I'm honestly glad it was her and not Mikel. Mikel's not nearly as quick, nor as reliable."

Kaylee was the one who connected the dots. "Oh! That's so sweet! You get the li'l ones to do your running around for you, so they feel all useful and won't see the money you give 'em as charity!"

Oriole shrugged. "Something like that. It's more of a case that kids are everywhere, and there aren't too many opportunities to earn some honest money in places like this for them. Some of the best sources for information are kids. Who pays any attention to them, after all?"

Seeing he was being ignored, Mal stormed off in a huff, heading for the bridge. _I can see about finding us another job. Searching the cortex doesn't need me hearin' after all._ The others continued ignoring him. "That…" Simon searched for the right words. "Actually, that makes a surprising amount of sense." He could clearly remember being a little kid and spying on his parents. To this day, he could probably give detailed reports on that one meeting his father'd had about the Christmas party they'd hosted when he'd been six.

Up on the bridge, River was already paging through the cortex. Mal halted at the door, feeling rather irritable. River turned her head and looked at him, a slow smirk spreading across her face. _She did warn you, you know._ Though Mal was positive River had probably actually said the words – he'd seen her mouth move – what made him startle was that he'd _heard_ them, too, but not from his ears. They seemed to resonate in a tiny bit of bone between his eyebrows.

"Shenme?" Mal whispered. Or hoped he did.

River rolled her eyes. _Reader,_ she thought at him, pointing to herself. _That isn't just a one-way street. But it's harder to project, just like it's harder to write a story than it is to read one._

"Good to know, 'Tross. You findin' us any shiny new employment?" Mal wasn't entirely certain this previously-unknown aspect to River's abilities was altogether welcome, but he had to admit that it _did_ have its uses.

_You don't have to shout, I'm sitting right here. _River rubbed idly at her own ears. Mal wondered just how loud that had come out. _But not yet. Some hopeful nibbles, but nothing definite. Why don't you go read a book or something? I'll let you know when I find anything._

Sulking, Mal headed off to his bunk, wondering just when it was he'd lost control of his own damn ship.

* * *

**A/N2:** This'll be the last chapter I've got planned for today. Look for more tomorrow (or the day after if RL intrudes).

Please pay in reviews. Or digital baked goods. Either works for me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Some might be offended by what Jayne does at the end of this chapter, so if duplicity and backstabbing aren't your cup of tea… Why are you reading this?

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Fourteen_

Unlike many others across the 'verse, the Alliance prison on Jiangyin had actually started its life as a prison, and not as an old warehouse or factory, or – as was the case for the biggest one on Londinium – a school. It showed in its distinct lack of architecture, rising up out of a desolate patch of desert like a giant cinderblock, surrounded by guard towers, fences, and more anti-aircraft weapons than Jayne could count. The innermost fence was a simple rock wall, rising to a height of approximately two stories; the fence that was furthest from the building itself, nearly two miles out, was made of electrified wire that angled sharply towards the prison, rather than rising at a neat, vertical angle from the ground.

"There it is," Zoë said, rather unnecessarily.

Jayne ignored the pointing out of the obvious. He did it enough himself that he knew most of the time someone said something that was apparent, it was simply because of a lack of anything else to say. He nodded. "An' that contact o' yourn – he knows we're comin'?"

"Waved him soon as we landed," Zoë confirmed.

The small, rickety shuttle they'd rented in Jiangyin City wasn't much to look at, but it was certainly faster than taking public transit. Had they needed to wait for the train, they would have needed to convince Mal to stick around for a full day – the train out to the prison only ran twice, once going there at about seven in the morning, and once coming back twelve hours later. The shuttle's comm-unit beeped, and a young-looking fed appeared at the screen. "Registered shuttle Bumblebee, you are required to land at checkpoint A. Please surrender control to docking AI on my mark."

"Acknowledged," Zoë replied and held her hand over the appropriate switch.

The guard waited a long heartbeat, then said, "Mark."

Zoë flipped the switch. The shuttle immediately slowed and began to descend towards the desert floor. After only a little less than a minute, it was parked, and authoritarian knocking started on the hatch. Jayne opened the shuttle door and had to ruthlessly squash his instinctive reaction to seeing a group of four feds standing just outside. The face that had appeared on their communications screen wasn't present, but the oldest of the guards took a single step forwards. "Number of visitors?"

"Two," Jayne replied as Zoë stepped next to him, then preceded him out of the shuttle. Jayne followed her example.

The speaker looked them over. "Follow me." He lead them into a small building next to the landing-pad. The young one from the comm-screen waited inside, surrounded by numerous computer controls.

"Thanks, Jase," the younger one said, and the one who'd lead them into the building returned to his post outside. Turning his attention to Zoë, the kid – he couldn't have been more than twenty-two or -three at the most – looked her over and asked, "You Zoë Alleyne?" Zoë didn't correct him, but nodded instead. "Warden's expecting you. He was nonspecific as to why…?"

"That's between me and the warden, now isn't it?" Jayne could see Zoë become rather more tense than she'd been so far.

The kid smiled a little. "Can't blame a guy for trying. Isn't all that often someone pretty as yourself visits these parts." He quickly typed something into one of the computers, then shouted, "Parquin!"

One of the guards from outside double-timed it into the building. "Sir?"

"Escort these two to admin. Warden's expecting them."

Parquin nodded and gestured for Zoë and Jayne to follow him. They took an elevator down to an egg-shaped mag-lev. The 'train' took them directly to the prison's basement. A second elevator brought them up to a receptionist's desk and waiting area that would have been at home in any business office on any of the core planets. A pretty redhead greeted them with a smile. "Thank you, guard. Please return to your duties." Once Parquin left, she gestured to the open doors behind her desk. "Jeff's expecting you. Please go on in."

The office was also something that would have fit more on Sihnon or Osiris, with thick carpet and comfortable furniture. The man waiting for them was younger than Jayne had been expecting, closer to Zoë's age than the bordering-on-elderly man his imagination conjured up at the word 'warden'. On seeing the man, though, Zoë seemed to relax a little. "Harper," she greeted the man with a nod.

The man grinned. "Hey, Corporal Alleyne. Who's your friend?" He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat. Want anything to drink?"

"When they'd make you the warden?" Zoë asked, ignoring both offers.

"A year ago," Jeff replied, standing and heading over to a wet-bar in the corner. He opened a miniscule refrigerator and came up with three bottles of ginger ale. He handed one to each of his guests before opening the last for himself.

"And that was something you simply couldn't pass along before I got here?" Jayne smirked a little at the irritation in Zoë's voice. "Near had a heart-attack when they said the _warden_ was expecting me!"

Jeff laughed. "And this right here?" he indicated her expression. "_So _worth it!"

Zoë let out a weird growling noise, then started smacking the guy. "Ni shi shenme dongxi! Si bu yao lian!"

Jeff threw up an arm to ward off her half-hearted attacks. "Hey! Quit it!" He backed away. "Ow!" One smack landed on the back of his hand. "Damn it, Zoë! Was just a joke! Quit hittin' me!"

Zoë suddenly stopped and backed away from the man. Catching Jayne's silent guffawing out of the corner of her eye, she glared at him. Jayne shoved his own laughter into a box to come back to later. "What am I missin' here?" he asked. Sure, he was all for any contact of Zoë's that could help him with his mission, but he was more than just a little confused as to how – and why – she seemed to be on friendly terms with an Alliance fed.

Jeff and Zoë exchanged a look that Jayne had only ever really seen between her and Mal. Jeff nodded and poked his head out of his office. "Liss? Hold all my calls, please." He then shut the door. "Zoë and I grew up together," he stated. "We were the two youngest aboard, so we spent most of our time together."

"Then the war happened," Zoë took over the explanation, knowing that if she didn't, Jeff would wind up spilling far too many embarrassing details. "He spied for us, Jayne."

Jeff nodded, not denying it in the slightest. "But since we lost – and no one ever figured out what I was doing – I figured why not keep on with the role? It's a good job and pays pretty well. And now I can actually manage to do some good with it. In the last year alone, sixteen people who'd been imprisoned here for various Alliance-crimes that shouldn't really _be_ crimes have been paroled." He took a swig of his ginger ale. "Woulda liked to simply free 'em, but I plain don't have the clearance to delete their records. So, I do what I can."

Jayne blinked at them. "Huh," was all he said, though his brain agreed that it made a heap of sense.

"Anyway," Zoë interrupted, setting her bottle of soda down on Jeff's desk. _He knows I can't stand that crap_. "We're a little short on time."

Jeff drained his own bottle and tossed the empty in a trash chute next to the door. "So I understand." He looked at Jayne. "Zoë didn't explain a whole lot, only that you wanted to see Grant Pikerton."

Jayne nodded. "Need him to answer me a few questions, 's all."

A little chill brushed through the warden at seeing the murderous expression on Zoë's friend's face. "Now why don't I believe that?"

"Jayne," Zoë said his name quietly, but her tone told him that he was going to need to let Jeff know more.

Jayne sighed and twisted the cap off the bottle Jeff had given him. He drained half of it, then explained what he was after. The story he wove wasn't quite as detailed as the version he'd told Zoë, but for all that it was somewhat condensed, it was still true. By the end of it, Jeff was visibly agitated. He smiled a bloodthirsty little grin at Zoë and Jayne. "Well, now, let's see what we can find out." He sat at his desk and pulled up the interior communication screen. "Liss? Get me Gunther." He waited while his call was routed. The man who appeared on the screen next was a stereotypical fed prison guard – older, slightly chubby, and with an ego bigger than most planets. Before the man could speak, however, Jeff scowled at him. "Take prisoner Grant Pikerton," he glanced at the screen that lay flat on his desk, "number 7824-CX-95, to holding room six." The guard barely had time to say 'yes, sir' before Jeff switched him off. With his smile back in place, he stood. "Come on, then. Daylight's wasting."

Harper lead them through the prison, ignoring the respect given him in passing by his underlings. Eventually, they stopped. A pair of guards were standing to either side of a plain door, decorated with a large numeral '6'. One of the guards was recognizably Gunther from the call earlier. "Prisoner is secure, sir," the guard reported.

"Now, that won't do at all," Jeff replied. "Keys," he commanded, holding his hand out.

Understanding flashed through Gunther's eyes as he handed over the cuff keys. "Another wannabe-escapee?"

"Likely," the warden replied. "Don't know for sure yet. Need to ask a few questions first."

Gunther grinned. It was not a nice look on the man. Even knowing Jeff hadn't started off as a fed, Jayne couldn't help but like the guy. And damned if he wasn't starting to like a few of his underlings, too.

The 'holding' room was scarcely bigger than a cell, and slightly smaller, though more square, than Jayne's bunk. Pikerton was seated at a small table, his hands locked into cuffs that had the chain running through a metal ring on the table's surface. Jayne locked eyes with the prisoner and recognized him immediately; he'd been the one whose shotgun blast at close range had caused his brother's fiancé's head to explode into red mist.

In a move too fast for anyone to track, Jayne crossed the brief distance between him and Pikerton and slammed his antler-handled bowie knife tip-first into the composite surface of the table. Pikerton's eyes grew wide at the sight of it vibrating just millimeters from his left hand. "Where'd ya get that knife?" he asked.

The pain from earlier made a reappearance, though not quite as strong. Jayne channeled it into anger. He loomed over the skinny, scarred nianye. "Oh, I think ya already know that." Pikerton paled. "But," Jayne continued, "just in case it's been too long, I s'pose it won't hurt nothin' ta tell ya. That there blade got left behind by some erbaiwu hundan that ain't learned ya don't leave an enemy breathin'. But it weren't yourn." Pikerton seemed to relax a little. "Guy what threw it inta me was taller. Red hair. Ya know 'im?"

Pikerton nodded frantically. "Yeah! His name's Lionel… Um, Derrik Lionel. Last I heard, he was out on Three Hills, anchorin' the slaver trade twixt there an' Santos."

Jayne filed the information away. "Was one other guy there that day what ain't been counted. Bald, rangey, li'l taller 'an me. Carried a grenade launcher, a homemade one. Got a name?"

"Jonsey," Pikerton babbled. "That's all we knowed him by. Got blowed up about a year after Silverhold. Dunno what happened 'at caused it, but we was twixt Athens an' Boros. Had ta 'bandon ship. Dumbass hundan blew out half the gorram hull on the starboard side. Was nine of us, but only me an' two others made it off."

"What was the name of the ship?" Though it didn't show, Jayne was both relieved that he only had one more to track down and disappointed that he didn't figure in on this 'Jonsey's death. He shelved the inner debate to deal with later.

"The Xiao San," Pikerton replied.

Jayne smiled at the prisoner and held a hand behind him for the handcuff keys. Jeff might not have known Jayne well enough to realize what the silent gesture meant, but Zoë did. She took the keys from the warden and sat them in Jayne's palm while the merc started talking. "Well, now. Ya been right helpful, there, Pikerton." He brought the keys around and unchained the prisoner from the table. Once the cuffs fell away, Pikerton rubbed his wrists. "Ya can go," Jayne said, yanking his knife out of the table.

Pikerton looked at the warden, standing next to the door. Jeff smiled vaguely at him. "You heard the man." He opened the door. "Go on."

The prisoner got to his feet and scrambled around Jayne. He could feel the intimidating man's gaze boring holes in his back as he exited the room and had to force himself to _walk_ past the guards. He started to turn to go back to his cell when the older guard, Gunther, tapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. "Thataway, scrub," he pointed in the direction that would take him to the elevators. Confused, but too acclimatized to life within the prison, Pikerton simply followed orders.

Jayne, Zoë, and the warden joined the pair of guards. Jayne handed the guard the keys. The group silently watched until Pikerton was halfway to the elevator. Then Jayne adjusted his grip on the bowie knife with a theatric little toss. With what seemed to be a simple twitch, a slight shifting of stance, the blade was no longer in Jayne's hand. Instead, it was two hundred feet away, buried to the hilt between Pikerton's shoulders.

Pikerton continued walking for nearly three full steps before slowly collapsing.

"Five down, one to go," Jayne murmured.

* * *

**A/N2:** I don't know what it says about me, but I really really really liked this chapter. I hope y'all did, too.

Reviews make me squee. Squeeing drives my family nuts. Help me make my family as crazy as I am and send your reviews today! *Grin*


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Why is it that this story just can't seem to wait for me to type it? I've dreamt of _nothing_ but this story for the past three nights, and it's been driving me batty!

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Fifteen_

"You got us a new job, River?" Zoë asked, taking a seat in the copilot's chair.

River teetered her hand in a 'maybe' motion. "I have several possibilities, but no speaking power for the ship." She hit a button on the cortex and swiveled to face the first mate. She tilted her head in the way she did when reading or seeing something. "I'd suggest taking the load of paper products to Greenleaf." River made a gesture that Zoë took to mean she should take a look at the secondary cortex screen on the copilot's panel.

"Hmm… And from there, we can pull a decent enough cargo of citrus over to Harvest. Do a straight-trade for wheat."

"Plus commission, of course," River injected.

"Of course," Zoë nodded. "The wheat should pull six or seven times fair-market on Three Hills."

"Not to mention the medicinals," River added.

Zoë looked up at her. "What medicinals?"

"The ones we'll also pick up on Greenleaf," River explained. "Petty's been doing quite well at growing under Alliance radar, but can't get anything shipped off-world." She named one of the many growers of contraband pharmacology hidden in the depths of Greenleaf's jungles. "Should we take on any passengers?"

Zoë shook her head. "Don't really need any." She scanned the list of planned stops River had compiled. "This ought to do right well." She favored the girl with a small smile. "Profitable." _I may leave more of the trades up to her in the future. Provided, of course, that this winds up as profitable as we hope it does._

"I'll try to do as well when we stop on Three Hills."

River's voice held that ineffable 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' undertone. Zoë quirked an eyebrow at her. "What ain't you saying about Three Hills?"

River shook her head. "Probability algorithms mean little if the future won't settle on a single path."

_River-speak for 'I don't know what it is yet, but something's not gonna go right'._ "Well, see about getting that paper cargo delivered. I know Mal's probably ready to get off this rock. I'll go let him know what the plan is."

River giggled. "Take a notebook."

"Shen me?"

She giggled again. "Trust me, you'll need it."

Meanwhile, Kaylee and Simon were wandering among the various street-peddlers. Kaylee was looking for something pretty to send to Inara for her birthday, and Simon went along just for the chance to get out and stretch his legs a bit. "How about this," Kaylee chirped, dragging him over to where a wizened old man was painting scenes on grains of rice.

Examples of the old man's works were displayed in tiny glass vials filled with clear oil. One of the ones Kaylee was examining had a faithful reproduction of the Mona Lisa painted on a fat little grain of rice. He had to admit the man had exceptional talent. "I think she'd love it, if you can find one with art. Don't send her one with just her name on it," he warned.

"Why not?" Kaylee asked, having had that very thought – the names were cheaper, by far, than any of the miniscule artwork.

The old man laughed and answered, "Yer lookin' fer a gift fer a friend, right? Not one fer a sweetie?"

Simon nodded. "Inara's a good friend of ours, but she's also a registered Companion. I doubt that she's looking to trade rice with _anybody_, let alone Kaylee here." Though his words could have made Kaylee mad not long after he'd joined the ship, she now knew him well enough that it wasn't meant as an insult.

"What are you two talkin' 'bout?"

Simon explained, "It's a custom, more common the closer you get to the core. If you're dating someone, and you want to make it serious, you give them a rice-pendant that has your name printed on it. If they're serious in return, they give you their name. It's called 'trading rice'." He let a wry expression flit across his face. "My father gave me my own rice when I turned sixteen – it was a not-so-subtle hint that I should start thinking about dating."

Kaylee's emotions, as always, whiplashed through several options. "Aw! That's sweet," she enthused. "The tradition, I mean. Not what your pa did. Though if it's that common, I suppose it could be sweet, too, in its own way, I mean." She peered a little closer at a rice-grain that showed a rather provocative nude stretched out on a microscopic sofa. "You still have yours?" she asked, focusing on not blushing. She moved her eyes and lost the fight when they landed on a similar nude, only this time it depicted a pair of well-endowed men tangled together.

"Yeah," Simon replied, answering her question and looking over her shoulder to see what caused the tips of her ears to turn bright pink. "I don't believe that particular position is physically possible," he commented, grateful for both his ability to don his 'doctor distance' at a whim and for the innumerable galleries containing 'fine art' his parents had dragged him to where paintings just as explicit existed in larger-than-life detail.

The old man laughed again. "Prolly not," he agreed, knowing his stock well enough that he knew exactly which work had caught the girl's eye. "'S a commission piece, though. Sly fella ordered it fer his lover an' ain't been by ta collect it yet." He twisted around and brought out a flat containing more tiny glass vials. "If yer wantin' a gift fer a friend, one'a these might do, considerin' the lady's occupation."

The rice grains were all painted with various flowers. Kaylee started looking through them and paused on one painted with cherry blossoms. "What about this, Simon?" she asked.

Simon took a look and smirked. "Um… Probably not. Though I'd pay good money to see Mal give that one to her. Preferably in person." He let out a little laugh. "Then again, maybe not. He'd undoubtedly wind up opening his mouth and actually _saying_ something."

Kaylee turned her head and said, "Shen me?"

"Cherry blossoms're when yer tryin' ta say ya admire a woman's sexual nature, girlie," the old man explained. "An' when yer also tryin' ta say all nice-like that ya wouldn't mind her practicin' that nature on ya."

Kaylee returned the vial to its place like it burned her hand. "And here I was thinkin' it was just pretty."

"'Tis at that, 's why it's a _nice_ way ta ask," the man agreed. "How 'bout this un," he selected one of the vials. It depicted a bouquet of sunflowers. "Says yer wishin' 'er a year o'happiness fer each flower. An' there ain't nuthin sexual 'bout it – a momma can give this ter her kids and won't be nuthin said on it. Makes a good gift among folks as just friends."

Kaylee took the small vial from the man and peered at the sunshiny flowers. She beamed at Simon. "Any problems with it?"

Simon shook his head. "Sounds perfect."

"How much?" she asked the old man.

While they settled into a spirited haggling session, Simon's eye was caught by the neighboring vendor and he wandered over to take a closer look at the various bits of brightwork on display. The woman was selling handmade jewelry, mostly copper with a few silver pieces, that contained semi-precious stones. The one piece in particular that had captured his attention was a braided copper bracelet that reminded him of Kaylee's hair when she had it in pigtails, decorated with chips of tiger-eye gems that almost exactly matched her eyes. His own haggling session took longer than he'd hoped, but by the time he'd tucked the bracelet into a pocket, Kaylee was just finishing up with the rice artist.

"You ready to head back?" he asked her.

"You betcha," she replied with a secretive smirk.

While Zoë and River plotted overtly on how to make them some decent money while covertly plotting ways for Jayne to get the last of his revenge, and Kaylee and Simon were out scoring various pretties, Jayne had retreated to his bunk. The adrenaline build-up over the past few weeks had finally stopped, but instead of satisfaction, he was left feeling… Well, _over-feeling_, and not emotionally. Emotionally, he was happy with how things had played out at the prison. _Maybe a little regretful I couldn't do 'im over like I wanted, but that hundan's dead which is good enough for me._ No, it wasn't anything to do with _emotions_ that had him feeling so out-of-sorts. It was the flair-up he'd noticed from his fingertips.

The pain had steadily built up over the hour-and-a-half it took the pair of them to make their goodbyes to Jeff and return to Serenity. Coupled with the fact he'd not had anything to eat since supper the night before – and even that was only a few measly mouthfuls – and he was physically miserable, dizzy enough that he was honestly surprised he'd made it to his bunk without ricocheting off of any walls. _Or landin' on my ass._

Enough so that he dug out the little test-box Dr. Baker had given him with the medicine and sat staring at it, the man's words echoing in his head. 'Now this is important, Cobb, so you pay close attention,' the doc had said, holding up the device Jayne was now contemplating. 'If the side-effects I just explained start to get too bad for ya to manage, you're gonna need to see if any of the meds need adjusted.' The doctor's instructions on how to use the machine underscored Jayne's actions. He sat it against the inside of his wrist and hit the proper button. When he'd expressed distaste at sticking his fingers, the doc had sympathized and recited a list of alternate sites from which to draw the sample – most of which had Jayne cringing when he'd gone over them.

A little light indicated the box was done drawing the blood needed, and Jayne sat it on his desk. _Hope it ain't gonna say nothin' too technical._ The room persisted in its slow, rocking twist around him and he closed his eyes. Several minutes later, it beeped. Jayne pried his eyes open and looked at the small screen. He had to smile a little. "Doc musta had it reprogrammed to speak plain," he mumbled.

The text was Chinese, but Jayne was actually better at reading that than English. Translated, it basically said, _Your blood-sugar is too low. Eat something. You also need to increase the dosage of the pentizonithal to level 7._

Jayne tacked a mental note to his brain's 'must remember' corkboard to do so tomorrow morning, then rummaged in his desk for something snacklike. He knew he wouldn't be able to make it up his ladder to the galley, not with how much the plating under his feet seemed to want to act like a sailing-ship from Earth-that-Was. His questing fingers, screaming at him in agony the entire time, managed to locate a granola bar. He still didn't feel particularly hungry, but it was his favorite – dates, almonds, and honey, pressed in with the rolled oats and dipped in peanut butter – so it held far more appeal than the protein up in the kitchen.

He managed to surprise himself by actually _finishing_ it. And it managed to slow the rocking of the room around him, too. However, with his equilibrium back where it ought to be, the screaming from his fingers could no longer be ignored. _Tama de! 'S gettin' worse._ His mind unhelpfully pointed out that it wasn't as bad as it had been that morning. He checked the chrono part of the screen next to his ladder, then twisted his entire head to get a better view of it. _Ruttin' blind-spot's gonna be all kinds o' headaches._ It was closing in on four in the afternoon, ship's time. Automatically, he knew that meant it was just about sundown outside. _Just past ten hours since Zoë gimme the drops._ His shoulders slumped. _An' that's how long Baker tol' me it'd last. Gorram it! I ain't no ruttin' nao can, ren zha, xingjiao de tou bu junky! I ain't!_

A knock at his hatch interrupted his thoughts. He stood and headed over. Opening the hatch revealed Oriole. "Ya want somethin'?" _Fine-lookin' woman,_ he thought, as he usually did when she landed in his line of sight.

She nodded, ignoring his attempt to peer up her skirt. "I could use a hand moving a few things up to the kitchen," she said. "And River mentioned a delivery of cargo should be arriving in about a half an hour or so."

Even the thought of schlepping boxes had his fingertips singing more intensely. Jayne nodded at her. "Be right there," he said, slamming the hatch shut. _Damn it._ He slumped into his chair and grudgingly pulled the Opianax from its sleeve. _Still ain't no damn junky,_ he thought, forcefully slamming the vial into the port on the injection gun.

_Ya do realize,_ his wife's voice spoke up even as he pulled the trigger, _that this is s'posed to make it so ya can still work, right? An' ain't most junkies _willin'_ ta take it? Seems like ya don't fit the description there, honey. _

Jayne had to admit she had a point. _God, I miss ya. Ya know that, right?_

Her laughter inside his head was all the reply he got. It was more than enough.

* * *

**A/N2:** Insofar as I could see, nowhere in canon does it detail whether or not the typical 'rules' (like in the US) for dating are still in use. I wanted something akin to trading class rings or buying a promise-ring, but I didn't want actual jewelry-style rings to come into play. I hope I was clear enough with what 'trading rice' entails. If not, lemme know. Thanks.

Lemme know how I'm doin', 'kay?


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Though it doesn't seem like it, this is a pretty important chapter, so please pay attention. Thankee kindly.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Sixteen_

Kaylee and Simon returned to Serenity to find Mal watching as Jayne shifted massive amounts of plastic-wrapped cardboard containers around using the archaic-and-seldom-utilized pallet jack. "What's all this?" Kaylee asked, blatantly curious.

"Legal cargo," Jayne replied. "Paper stuff, bound for Greenleaf." He settled the last pallet into place, then secured it to its mates with a length of cargo netting. He could feel the ache in his hands migrating up into his palms from all the work and found himself actually grateful for the not-caring haze of the Opianax.

"Short trip," Simon commented, knowing it was only a ten hour trip to the nearby planet. The first time they'd done a run to Greenleaf, he'd been overly-optimistic about getting things for the infirmary, and had been crushingly disappointed to find that – source planet or no – the Alliance's fondness for price-setting and high taxes made it so that any of the medicines manufactured there were actually _cheaper_ when purchased from black market dealers.

Jayne nodded and double-checked his work. With his brain as foggy as it was, he didn't want to leave _anything_ to chance. _Be just my gorram luck for the net ta snap just as we hit atmo an' send all this flyin'._ The checking also meant he could subtly lean against the pallets as another bout of dizziness washed over him. _Wonder if Oriole's done makin' dinner yet? Ain't hungry in the slightest – gorram meds – but I ain't so dizzy with a full stomach neither._

While the merc did his job, Simon's mind was busy mulling over his recent purchase. _Is it too soon to buy her jewelry? Or should I have bought something like this months ago? _On Osiris, it was considered unseemly for a man to purchase jewelry for a woman that wasn't either a blood-relation or a declared lover. But he'd been away from his homeworld long enough to know that other planets had differing customs. _I'd ask Mal, but that man's track-record is enough to deter even the most ignorant of children. I wish Inara were still here – she'd know._

Kaylee was also caught in thinking, but her thoughts were on a decidedly different topic. _How come Jayne's movin' so slow? Ain't been slow an' careful like that since the last time he got shot. _Her eyes narrowed. _I know he ain't been shot, but _somethin'_ ain't right with him. He's done lost weight, an' it ain't like he had any fat on him to start with._ Her eyes darted over to where Jayne kept his weights. _He ain't used them in a long time, neither. Been over a month since the last time, 'less I missed somethin' late at night. But then again, he sorta fell outta usin' them a whole lot after Shepherd Book died. Too many memories, I guess. Sorta like how Zoë never sleeps in her own bunk no more._

"You 'bout done?" Mal shouted. His hearing was still iffy, though he could actually _hear_ now – it was like everything was heard through a thick layer of wool or water, and every few hours the high-pitched ringing would start up again.

Jayne checked one last connection and straightened. He nodded at the captain, then tried to block out the rocking, illusory breathing of the floor as he headed for the stairs. Mal headed for the intercom and hit a button, "We're ready – let's head out." Inside his head, River's 'voice' said, _You're shouting again. Don't shout into the comm. It will blow out the speakers and then Kaylee will be upset with you._ Mal rolled his eyes at it, even as he tried to send a mental 'thanks' in her direction.

After the captain had headed off upstairs, Simon turned to Kaylee and they both managed to say, "I got something for you," at the same time. The airlock doors hissed closed behind them, providing an interesting counterpoint to shared laughter. "Ladies first," Simon insisted, once the noise was done.

Kaylee dug into the paper sack she'd received from the rice painter and pulled out a little glass vial on a black silk cord. "Here," she said, a faint pink blush staining her cheeks. Once Simon had it firmly in hand, before he could say a word or even really identify it in any meaningful way, Kaylee sprinted for the engine room.

Peering closely at the grain of rice contained in the vial, Simon had to smile. _Guess that answers my earlier question_. 'Kaywinnet Lee Frye' was drawn on the grain in microscopic, yet still ornately calligraphic, letters. Instead of following Kaylee, he headed to his room. He had a tiny trinket to locate – one of the very few things that had made it all the way from Osiris with him – before he saw her again.

Up on the bridge, River smiled to herself. _It's about time those two made their relationship something more permanent than one of convenience. I would have assumed my stuffy da gege would have insisted on something formal before getting involved, but then again, he's changed nearly as much as I have over the last year. Maybe more._

"You smiling at something specific?" Oriole asked, running over all the systems readouts prior to takeoff.

River nodded. "Certainly."

"Gonna share?"

"Not mine to share," River replied. "Though I'm sure we will all know soon enough."

"Fair enough," Oriole said, then turned the whole of her attention to the vessel she was entrusted to keep in the air.

One of the reasons River liked Oriole was that the older woman seemed to take things like her reading ability in stride. However, since she couldn't clearly read much of Oriole beyond emotions, she wasn't altogether sure why that was the case. As the pilot pulled Serenity out of atmo, River considered her options and came to the conclusion that there was nothing to be gained by wondering. "May I ask a personal question?" she asked, once Serenity was in the black.

"Sure thing. Can always ask. Can't promise I'll always answer, but I promise I won't be offended by the questions themselves."

"Even if they don't say as much, I know that most people – even Simon – are initially uncomfortable with my… abilities."

Oriole smiled and set the autopilot. "And you're wondering why I'm not, right?"

River nodded. "You are an enigma to me. Everyone else I meet tries to keep their thoughts and emotions private, but the harder they try, the more I sense. You, though… You only give off the faintest hints of what you're thinking or feeling. If it weren't for the fact that I received absolutely no indication that you posed a threat to us, I would have advised the captain to offer the job to someone else."

Oriole scooted down in the chair and perched her heels on the edge of the control panel. "You're not the first reader I've met, River." At the words, River's curiosity ramped up by an order of magnitude and it showed on her face. Oriole closed her eyes and took a few breaths and suddenly her presence was more _there_ than it had been just a moment earlier. River still couldn't sense actual thoughts, but she could now clearly read truth versus falsehood and the older woman's emotions much more clearly. "You remember me commenting that I have eight brothers?"

River nodded. "I don't think I believe that they're all bigger than Jayne, though."

Oriole chuckled. "Yeah, I know it's hard to believe, but all my big brothers are just that – big. Daddy's that way, too, though I take after Momma. Me and Wren." There was a complicated twist of emotion flavoring the name; sadness and happiness and bitterness and something akin to loyalty, all wrapped in a coating of want. "I should've said I have seven brothers. My xiao didi, Wren, he was the 'runt' of the family. If he could have walked, I don't think he would have been much taller than you. He passed, about ten years ago. Was a blessing, or so the preacher back home said. Wren had always been sickly. Small and weak."

"But only in body," River said.

Oriole nodded. "True enough. He was brilliant and read people like you do. Nobody else believed me, though. They didn't take the time to figure him out. Whatever it was that was wrong with his body affected his thinking. He had what I've found out since is called aphasia, coupled up with this other thing called synesthesia."

"He had difficulty translating thoughts into language and his senses brought him mixed signals," River said.

Oriole nodded again. "That they did. Even when he was speaking plainly, nobody thought he was because he'd be on about tasting colors or hearing scents. With Momma busy taking care of the rest of us, I was the only one who had the time to figure out what Wren meant. It helped that he could read people. He did it enough that it wound up pretty easy for him to figure out how to send thoughts to me. He couldn't send to anyone else, though – didn't know anyone else well enough. But we ran into a sticky situation when I was fourteen."

"What sort of sticky situation?" River asked. She was enjoying hearing about someone with whom she shared so much in common. The emotions Oriole felt were simply icing on a well-told tale.

"I got me a beau is what happened," light embarrassment tinged the statement, though it was laced thickly with lately-acquired amusement. "I didn't realize how badly I was affecting Wren until he, well 'walked' isn't the right word, but it'll do I suppose. Until he walked in on me and Xander Haliwell two buttons away from giving each other our virginity. He rolled in on his chair and managed to get out a sentence that was very clear, even to Xander. He said, 'Keep going, just want to see what the fuss is about'." Oriole let out a nostalgic chuckle. "I was mortified, and Xander ran so fast I never saw him again. Helluva wake-up call, though."

River echoed the pilot's laugh. "I can imagine."

"Anyway," Oriole gave a small shrug. "After I cooled down some, he managed to get across what my hormones were doing to his twelve year old self. We spent the better part of a year figuring out how to either turn off his reading ability – which didn't work at all – or for me to quit 'broadcasting' my every want and need and thought in his direction. We didn't _quite_ get it perfected, but we came up with something that worked. Over the next couple of years, it just got to be second-nature. After he died, though, I didn't think I'd ever have need of it again."

"Then you came to Serenity."

Oriole shook her head. "Nope. I left for flight school. One of the very first classes is on meditation and ordering your thoughts. Pilots get into some of the most stressful situations in the 'verse. We need to be able to set aside panic in order to do our jobs properly. Turns out that what I'd been doing with Wren was a pretty good foundation for it. The meditation techniques came easily to me and I kept on with the practice. Though I favor tai-chi over just sitting and staring at my belly-button."

River nodded thoughtfully. Tai-chi fit the contained energy of the blonde in a way that less active meditation simply couldn't. "Do you practice every day or just when something is bothering you?"

"Every morning," Oriole replied. "I brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, and do at least half an hour of forms."

"Would you be opposed to teaching me? I've been told I'm rather a fast learner, so it shouldn't take up much of your time."

Oriole laughed outright and her feet fell from the console. "Heavens, girl! Nothing out here _but_ time."

"Is that a yes or a no?" River asked, her eyes narrowing at the pilot.

"That'd be a yes," Oriole clarified. "But I don't have enough room in my bunk for both of us. I'll wake you tomorrow morning, alright?"

"That will be acceptable," River confirmed.

"For now, though, you mind taking first watch? I've got dinner-duty."

Thinking of the boxes of real food Oriole had procured earlier that day had River's mouth watering. "Will you save me a plate?"

"Of course," the blonde replied, then left for the galley.

* * *

Simon managed to catch up with Kaylee as she was about to leave the engine room. "Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself." She smiled prettily back at him and what he'd planned to say just sort of… evaporated. When he didn't say anything, the smile took on an amused tinge and she asked, "Did you need somethin'?"

Simon reminded himself to breathe and held out his hand. Kaylee could see it was holding something, but couldn't make out what – his fingers were too close together. "In answer to your inquiry, milady," Simon said, gently mocking his own formal upbringing.

Kaylee reached for his upraised hand and Simon released a tiny bundle of silver chain. The chain was wrapped around a small oval pendant made of some sort of heavy synthetic. Encased within the clear plastic was a grain of rice with 'Simon Tam' all but typed on its side. Though she could recognize the quality was of a higher grade than the one she'd purchased from the vendor on Jiangyin, she couldn't help but like the old man's personal calligraphy more than the machine-print of Simon's. The tiny thought flashed through her brain so quickly that she didn't even really notice it, instead she beamed at Simon, recalling the significance of the tradition he'd explained to her. Kaylee quickly unwound the chain and slipped the pendant over her head. She noticed that Simon was already wearing the one she'd gotten for him.

His own smile brightened. "Now that we've all but posted a notice in the cortex that we're exclusive," he said, "I would like you to have this." He handed her a small paper-wrapped package.

"A present?" Kaylee's voice took on the high-pitched tone that indicated she was so excitedly happy that she simply couldn't contain herself.

"A token," Simon corrected and handed it to her.

Kaylee ripped it open and saw the bracelet he'd picked out. She stared at it for several long heartbeats – long enough for Simon to begin worrying, to tell the truth – before she erased all his doubts by flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

Oriole walked into the kitchen to find Mal poking his nose into the pot she'd started about two hours earlier. If his hearing hadn't been temporarily blasted by her whistle, and if he weren't her still-new boss, she'd smack him with a ladle for the snooping. However, she figured she owed him an apology, so she let it slide. Instead, she sidled up next to him and took the lid out of his hand with a glare. "What is this?" he managed the question without yelling. Oriole hoped that meant his hearing was healing quicker than the doc had claimed it would. She really did feel sorta bad about that, after all. "It's pretty good."

"It's kabritu stoba," she replied, tasting the broth. It needed a dash more salt, so she added a pinch and stirred. _Much better._

"What?"

Instead of repeating herself, she stepped over to the marker board on the fridge and wrote 'Kabritu Stoba = goat stew. My Daddy's favorite dish, when we could afford the goat.' She tapped Mal's shoulder after giving him a full minute to ponder her note. When he turned, she pointed to the stack of bowls and then to the table. Her meaning was clear.

Mal grabbed the dishes and set the table, idly wondering if that 'do what I'm telling you' expression was something that every woman was taught. It was certainly one of the few expressions that had followed him from his mother's kitchen all through his life. Once everyone's place was set with a bowl and spoon, he headed to the bridge. "Everything runnin' smooth?"

River looked up from her cortex-supplied hashi puzzle and nodded. _Make sure my supper's saved._ She sent the warning to Mal with a teasing overtone of 'or else' twisted through the words. Mal hit the intercom button, but River held up her hand to stop him. Though his earlier words had been managed at a reasonable volume, she wasn't about to risk any bits of the ship shorting out because of the captain's wonky hearing. "Supper's ready," she said, just loud enough that the microphone picked it up.

By the time Mal returned to the galley, the rest of the crew had assembled. Oriole was in the process of dishing up the stew she'd made. Kaylee and the doc were sitting closer together than was normal, Kaylee's hand toying with a new necklace. He peered a little closer at it, then looked at Simon. Though the medic wore his under his shirt, Mal'd been around the 'verse long enough to know his was probably a close match to Kaylee's. He patted Simon on the head. "Good boy," he said, taking care to try and keep his voice's volume at a regular level. He grabbed the pot of tea off the stove and filled a mug before settling in his chair at the table.

The only slightly-mocking praise caught Jayne's attention. "What's he on about?"

Kaylee held up her new necklace, but Simon answered. "We traded rice," he said, his tone clearly indicating that he thought Jayne had no idea what that meant.

Jayne merely smirked at him. "Thought most folk did that _afore_ swappin' spit. 'Bout damn time, though. Good on ya, Kaylee." He toasted her with a mug of water.

"Am I the only one who didn't know about the rice?" Kaylee pouted.

"Wasn't a tradition on Newhall, either," Oriole replied. "I didn't find out about it until my last year of flight school, when I was about your age. So don't feel too badly about it." With that, conversation drifted as everyone tucked into their meals.

* * *

**A/N2:** I don't think I've _ever_ had a multi-chapter fic like this pour forth so easily. It makes me wonder if I'm doing something wrong, or if it's simply a case of a muse that knows which buttons to push.

Reviews make my world ever-so-much brighter. However, if they're not your cup of tea, I won't be offended. Hope y'all liked it and are eager for more!


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Um… I'm not Christian. I only know the vague details anyone in the US winds up with as a result of living in a very Christian country, so please forgive me if Jayne's thoughts here aren't _quite_ right. If you must, consider it artistic license or possibly a new branch not yet founded here on Earth-that-Is.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Seventeen_

Jayne barely managed to make it through the meal. The food was good enough, if flavored a bit strangely for his taste, but seeing Kaylee and Simon all cozy-like made something deep inside himself twist sharply. Coupled with the side-effects of the pentazonithal and the Opianax, he could barely swallow the last few bites. He abandoned the table as soon as it was possible for him to do so.

On reaching his bunk, he barely paused long enough to deposit his belt on the desk and strip off his boots before stretching out on his bed, his eyes closed and tucked into the elbow of his left arm. _Bet the doc's workin' up ta gettin' a fancy li'l ring for Kaylee. Wonder how long it's gonna take 'im? Took 'im eight months ta work up enough courage to admit he liked 'er, an' a further five for 'im ta make it all official-like. So… 'Less he does somethin' really gorram stupid, I'd wager on two, maybehaps three months afore Kaylee gets ta add a li'l sparkly ring ta her collection._ Moisture leaked up behind his eyelids, oozing into a thin film between them and his arm. _Ain't gonna get ta see it. Just like I missed seein' Kelly's. Didn't get the chance ta stand up for 'er at her weddin', neither. Just like I ain't gonna see Kaylee's._

"There a pa'ticular reason ya seem ta hate me, God?" he mumbled. "'Twasn't enough ya took Kaida? Morley an' Adelaide? Pa an' Thad an' Jax?"

His breathing hitched a little. He wasn't crying. He _wasn't_. _No, 'twasn't enough ya had ta take all m'family. Ya had ta go an' lay this on me. If it weren't for the fact I wouldn't've started down this road if ya hadn't taken them first, I'd be okay with it. Payment's always gotta be made. If I'd been just a merc, 'thout no family lurkin' in m'past but parents, then I could see how I'd need ta pay for the killin' I done with m'own blood. But ya set me on this path. Why're ya takin' me from it now? Wasn't one family enough for ya? Ya gotta take me from this one, too?_

A great black pit opened up somewhere in the neighborhood of his left pectoral. _Guess I musta failed somewhere. Maybehaps I shouldn'ta did what Ma wanted. Smaller sin than killin', I s'pose, but I ain't never been one ta disobey Ma, not on nothin' big. An' there ain't nothin' bigger 'an family, ain't nothin' more important. Still hafta wonder what it was I done wrong, though. Ain't never hit a woman what didn't try an' kill me first, an' I never took one what wasn't willin'. Never kilt kids, cripples, or feebs. Fought like hell itself when the reavers were after us when we was tryin' ta get that capture about Miranda out, an' even managed to save Zoë from the reavers, all of it simply 'cause Mal asked me ta go. _

_Yeah, I kilt a mess o' men in my time, but I'd be willin' ta swear whatever oaths were needful that any man I kilt deserved it. Yeah, I took coin for most of 'em, but a body's got needs. Hard ta eat if there ain't no coin an' it's hard ta live if there ain't no food._ Another not-sob hitched out of his throat.

The not-caring haze of painkiller somehow couldn't touch the torment he was currently feeling. In truth, Jayne would have been more capable of ignoring it with physical pain to distract him. "Ain't tryin' ta justify all the bad I done," the thoughts continued aloud. "Ain't that t'all. I know I ain't been someone what's gonna go ta heaven. Even if ya was ta push aside all the killin', I know I ain't been good. I lie an' steal an' cheat when I can. Drink an' whore. Ain't a good man, I know. Thing is, though, I _used_ ta be. Worked for m'family, loved Kaida an' the kids. Did right by 'em ev'ry gorram second I had 'em. Used ta be honest an' followed all the rules Shepherd Lensworth laid out in church ev'ry Sunday. Can't figure what I did 'at made ya take 'em from me."

The thin film of moisture between his eyes and elbow trickled in a tiny stream back towards his temple, a cool counterpoint to the building throbbing in his head. _Knowed I was gonna get sent ta hell for a long while now. Payment is always gotta be made. I got my coin for all the men I've done for, an' I knowed with 'at first death I was gonna pay it back one day. Ain't it enough for ya 'at ya took m'family, 'at I know I ain't even gonna get ta see 'em after I die, 'at I'm bein' taken from Kaylee an' Zoë an' Mal, hell, even the doc an' River, too? Ya gotta drag it out like this? Make me lose m'self in the process? Never tortured no one. Intimidated, sure, an' made 'em _think_ torture was comin', but I never actually did it. Why're ya torturin' me? Ya want me dead, an' I can see that, but couldn't ya have just had m'luck run out?_

A strange bit of humor surfaced and the sounds emanating from his throat took on a tinge of gurgley laughter. _Shouldn'ta tried so hard when Mal had me in the airlock. Gettin' spaced is a damn sight better 'an this. Deserved spacin' for what I did. That it, God? That what made ya so pissed at me? I mean, I know it weren't what had ya take m'family, but is that what's got ya killin' me slow? If so, I s'pose it ain't no more 'an I deserve. Was just luck we made it offa Ariel._

The torrent seemed to be coming to an end. He still felt as though someone had placed a black hole somewhere inside his chest, but his thoughts had run out of steam. Rolling over, he blindly swiped faintly-pink tears from his elbow and face before burrowing under his blankets. He was asleep in moments, his dreams uneasy.

* * *

**A/N2:** This was a shockingly easy chapter to write. But then again, they've all been easier than I've been accustomed to.

Feedback is always appreciated.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Also don't own 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Eighteen_

River picked at the stew Oriole had made. The utter despair washing across her mind was more than enough to stifle the heartiest of appetites. _Why is it he has so much trouble seeing the good in himself?_ She picked up a piece of onion and let it fall back into her bowl with a small splat of broth. _I'll give him the fact that he's not an innocent. But why is it that he can't see his own honor? All he sees is that he's never raped anyone and that the men he's killed all 'deserved' it in some way._ Halfheartedly, she popped a chunk of goat meat into her mouth and chewed it slowly.

_And I never realized before that he had any sort of faith, though why that surprises me I'm not certain. He certainly spent enough time with Book. _She sighed and gagged a little when she swallowed. She pushed the bowl away. _At times, I've envied him. His simple and straightforward approach to life. At first, I thought it was just the bright primary colors of someone with less-than-average intelligence. The black and white world of children, carried forwards past the age of majority. This assumption was strengthened by the few thoughts of his that I could read, nearly all of which had to do with money, food, or sex. Biological urges, or those precipitated by biological urges; money equals food, money equals sex. But then Ariel happened. And he showed signs of more complex thought processes than I'd assumed him capable of making._

She stood and carried her half-eaten bowl back to the kitchen and washed it out. _Every day since then, he's shown signs of more intelligence than I gave him credit for – and I must admit I still have difficulty reading his thoughts, though his emotions have always been an open book. Why, then, this unwavering faith in something which has not been and cannot be proven to exist? Why ascribe meaning to the meaningless? We exist to exist, nothing more and certainly nothing less. Why does he persist in furthering his own emotional anguish by believing not only in an afterlife, but in an afterlife full of nothing but pain and suffering?_ Her own chest felt like it was stuck in a vise. _What I told him remains accurate. I look past the mask and see someone far more complicated lurking behind it. Under that, is another layer, and another, and another, and another. Each one done in a richer pallet of ever more subtle shades, each one somehow bigger than the mask it wore. It's like he's managed to invert the laws of physics to fit himself into ever narrower displays of who he is._

Returning to the bridge, she stared out at the star-spattered sky. _What will we find when the last mask falls away? The first shattered months ago, weakened by cracks caused by the pressure of guilt and caring. The mercenary lies in shards on the floor, long since swept away by loyalties he hadn't even known he'd forged. The womanizer hangs in tatters, dissolving in the onslaught of a traitorous body and medicinal side-effects. The fighter is holding on with all of his impressive strength, but will soon be pushed aside for the same reasons. _An old legend from Earth-that-Was which stated that stars were the light of all the souls yet to be born and those who had already died floated across her mind as she stared out at the distant pinpricks of light. _I think we see flashes of who he is from time to time. Not often, certainly, but no role, no matter how well known or how close it is to reality, can be maintained indefinitely. But how to separate those flashes of truth from what he _wants_ us to see and think?_ A childish urge of her own ambushed her, and she made a promise to herself to see if she could find any new stars after…

"See anything interesting, meimei?" Simon quietly asked.

River shook her head. "Not particularly. It's a quiet night."

Simon could tell something was bothering his sister. He slipped up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into the touch, rather like a cat, grateful for the warmth it provided. "What's on your mind, River?"

"I've read more than you," she said, her voice small. "And I'm smarter than you are. But you've not had my… issues. You've read different source-texts. Your knowledge is, by its very nature, different from my own. In all that you've learned, in all that you've seen and done and read…"

"What, meimei?"

Unexpectedly, River burst into tears and clung to her brother's waist. "Why does it hurt her when they die? Why can't she have the comfort of faith, too? Was that one of the pieces they stole from her brain?"

Simon hugged his sister tightly. His eyes traced the plastic dinosaurs ringing the controls. _Took her long enough,_ he thought. _But everyone grieves on their own schedule._ "Shh, meimei. It'll be alright." He stroked her hair, wishing he had answers for her questions. _Wish _anyone_ had answers to those questions._ _And I wish Wash was still here, so she wouldn't even have to ask them to begin with._

He had no idea how long he stood there before her sobs ceased, but it was long enough that there was a sizable wet patch on his shirt. He cupped River's face and wiped away the last of her tears with his thumbs. "I don't know why it hurts, meimei. I know I miss Wash, too. He was a good guy and didn't deserve what happened. But even though I don't know if I believe in any sort of afterlife myself, I'm always going to keep him in my memories, so he'll continue on as long as I do – his horrible taste in clothing, inappropriate obsession with toys, and bad jokes are but a memory away."

River closed her eyes and nodded at him. _He doesn't understand. He can't. He won't. Not until it's too late. Wash is dead. Book is dead. Inara is gone and might as well be dead for all we hear from her. Soon Jayne will die. How much more can Serenity take and still be whole? At what point does the soul of a family die?_ She opened her eyes. "You look tired, gege. You should get some sleep. Captain will need you with him tomorrow when he picks up our secondary cargo."

Simon's forehead wrinkled. "He's not going to get shot again, is he?"

The corners of River's mouth twitched. "No. The secondary cargo is going to be medicines. You will need to verify them for him before we accept the cargo."

Simon sighed. "And I somehow doubt that they're in any way legal."

"With prices what they are on Greenleaf?" River rolled her eyes. "Not hardly."

He let out a humorless chuckle. "And to think, I used to consider myself a law-abiding citizen. How far we've come." He brushed his sister's hair off of her face. "You should think about getting some sleep yourself, meimei. You look as tired as I feel."

"I will," she promised, though she doubted she would be getting anything in the way of meaningful rest. Almost unwillingly, her eyes wandered back to the starry skies outside. "Then the traveler in the dark, thanks you for your tiny spark, he could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so," she whispered.

* * *

**A/N2:** Hope I'm getting the story across the way it's been playing out in my head.

Review if you please. Thanks.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** This shoulda been up _hours_ ago, but my ISP had an outage. Sigh.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Nineteen_

Kaylee settled her shiny new bracelet with the other few pieces of jewelry she owned. She grinned at them, then shucked her coverall and pulled on a nightshirt. Wearing just an oversized pink t-shirt that sported a print of teddy bears, the necklace containing Simon's rice-grain, and her fluffy yellow duck slippers, she climbed out of her bunk and headed towards Simon's room.

"Kaylee?" Zoë's voice stopped her halfway across the galley. The first mate was curled up in the alcove seating area, a book in hand.

"Yeah?"

"Been doing some thinking lately," Zoë replied. "Things keep going as they are with you and Simon, and you'll wind up needing a bigger room."

Kaylee went over and sat next to Zoë. "You really think so?"

Zoë had to smile at the bright enthusiasm coming from the mechanic. "Absolutely. It's why I figured we'd get a jump on things."

"How?"

Zoë decided to do it quick, like pulling off a band-aid. "Care to trade me rooms?"

Kaylee let out a high-pitched squeeing noise and hugged Zoë. "Now?" she asked on letting her go.

Zoë had to laugh. "Not right this minute. But sometime in the next few days would work."

"Okay," she chirped. "Just lemme know when." She bounced to her feet. "Thank you, Zoë. Really! I gotta go tell Simon…" She dashed out of the galley and down the stairs that lead to the common area.

Zoë's eyes tracked a tiny piece of fluff that had parted company with Kaylee's slippers as it swirled in the air. _I don't know how much of it is simply by making Kaylee happy, but… I actually feel a little better. I've managed to get most of Wash's things packed to send back to his family on Beaumonde. _For the first time in a long time, she no longer felt like something heavy had just hit her across the back of her head for thinking her husband's name. _All but the small pieces I'm keeping. And I don't think anyone will let me so much as touch the dinosaurs. They're here to stay._ The knife-wound to her soul felt like it was finally starting, not to _heal_, but at least beginning to scab over.

She returned her attention to the novel she'd been trying to read, only to have her thoughts continue without her permission. _After Jayne leaves… Damn it, Zoë! Quit dancing around it. He's dying. Once he's gone, I wonder if River will take his room. It would be nice to have the option to take a full load of passengers for a change, because I know Simon will wind up sharing Kaylee's bunk. Aiya, has Jayne even thought about what he wants done with that arsenal of his? To say nothing of whatever other knickknacks and whatnots he's accumulated…_

_Once he's done with that nao can hun zhang wangba dan, I think I'm going to have to actually ask him what he wants done with it all. I know it's not something Mal will do, not willingly._ Zoë gave up on her book and sat it on the coffee table. _He did it too many times already. Then again, Jayne said when he was done, he was going home. Could be that he's already figured it out. But, even though he's not quite the idiot I'd assumed, for my own peace of mind, I'm going to ask him anyway._

While Zoë was lost in thought, Kaylee hurried to Simon and passed along the news that she and Zoë were going to trade rooms. Simon smiled at her enthusiasm. "Can't say I'm not with you on looking forward to a slightly bigger bed, baobei," he said, cuddling her close as they lay on his rather narrow bunk.

Kaylee wriggled around so that she was facing him. "You okay, Simon? You seem… distant."

"Think the word you're looking for is 'preoccupied'," Simon corrected. "And I am."

"River?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Went to say goodnight and she… It seemed like Wash's death finally hit her, all at once. Asked my why it hurts when people die, why she couldn't have the comfort of faith, too. I didn't know what to tell her."

"You ain't never been to church none?"

He shook his head. "No. Father and Mother considered religion to be an unfortunate vestigial remnant of the days when humans were still superstitious savages, cowering from thunderstorms in caves. Until River asked, I'd never really given much thought to any of it. Medicine, well, science in general can't tell us what, if anything, actually happens to our consciousness after we die. And after nearly half a millennium of looking, I don't think science will _ever_ be able to answer those questions." The last sentence was said with a bit of a wistful sigh.

Kaylee smiled softly at him, running her fingertips lightly across his face. "Oh, qin ai de ni. Sometimes, you tell me somethin' that makes me want to track down your folks and give 'em a good smack upside the head." Simon frowned at her, unsure what she meant. Before he could speak, though, Kaylee continued, "Faith ain't got nothin' to do with religion, an' it's _criminal_ to not teach a kid _somethin'_ about what comes after. What my momma taught me didn't come from no stuffy book or sacred scroll."

"Can I ask…?"

"Momma said that because people are social critters – ain't a one of us as can live long totally alone – we leave imprints on each other. For the folks that we're really close to, those imprints are stronger, more like we wind up tradin' tiny bits of what makes us _us_. An' when a person dies, it hurts 'cause they took that tiny bit of us with 'em. But they left a piece behind, too, so ya shouldn't pick at the sore spot where that piece of yourself used to be, instead you're s'posed to cherish the bit that got left behind to stay with ya."

Simon mulled over her words. "I didn't know your family was so philosophical."

Kaylee shrugged a little. "We ain't, not really. What Momma taught us? It's just how things _are_. Can't prove it with no machines or tests, sure, but that's why it's _faith_."

"I… To be honest, Kaylee, I'm not sure if I can believe it. I'll try, though, for you. And I do have to admit that it makes as much sense, if not more, than any of the other theories I've heard on the topic."

There had been a time, not so very long ago, when Simon's admission would have made Kaylee think he was looking down on her. However, with knowing the man a little better, she knew to take him at his word – it was going to take him some time to see if her own words rang true for him. She decided she'd take it on herself to chat with River about it. _That's the downside to faith. If ya don't got none, you really can't give it to someone else._ Further thought was shelved in favor of Simon's hands wandering up under her nightshirt.

* * *

**A/N2:** I really hope I'm not wandering too far afield of acceptable character behavior.

What's the one thing any fanfic author knows is more addictive than crack? C'm on, ya know ya wanna leave one. Do it. _Do it_. Feed the beast. _Dooo eet!_ *blinks* Okay, so apparently I'm in kind of a quirky mood. Must've been the horseradish.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Again, this shoulda been up a while ago. Stupid ISP. _Grumblemumble_.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty_

Jayne woke with a headache that put the worst hangover he'd ever endured to shame. It was almost bad enough that he didn't notice how much his hands still ached – not just his fingertips, but the palms, too – or the faint twinge from his back, just under his ribs. He rolled out of his bunk, his knees colliding painfully with the deck plating of the floor and setting the artillery in his skull off on a particularly enthusiastic exercise. He crawled over to his desk and blindly groped for the satchel of promised relief.

Had he the ability to process coherent thought at the moment, he likely would have laughed at himself. At some point during the night, he'd lost one of his socks, and the other one was barely clinging around the arch of his left foot, leaving a trail stretching behind him back to the bed like a little kid's drawing of a snake. His cargo pants were wrinkled and twisted slightly askew, with the left leg rucked up past his knee. Had it been anybody else, the sight of it would have had Jayne chuckling for _days_.

He managed, though he was never altogether clear just _how_, to get the Opianax loaded into the hypospray. Once it's tingling warmth managed to push the pain away to something he could ignore, he finished his lately amended morning routine of medications, brushing the fuzz off his teeth, a shave, and clean clothes. The black hole he'd swallowed the night before grew in size, silencing tasks that, even just yesterday, had been completed with whistling or humming.

Dressed, he checked the chrono and found he still had about an hour before they were due to land on Greenleaf. Mal had said – well, _shouted_ – that they'd have breakfast at a restaurant on the ground during supper the evening before, something to do with meeting the contact for their secondary cargo. Jayne didn't much care. It wasn't as though he was ever actually hungry anymore. He headed up to the galley, needing to pause twice as dizziness washed over him. Unlike before, he didn't even bother glancing around to see if anyone was looking as he laid a steadying hand against the bulkhead. He flat didn't _care_.

Jayne paused in the galley long enough to slice himself a piece of protein, knowing that if he didn't eat _something_, the side-effects were going to be bad enough for Mal to bench him. Despite it all, he was unwilling to allow himself to be benched. Not while he could still stand. Not while he knew he could still shoot straight. The fact that he was well and truly _dying_ might have only just managed to sink into his thick head, but that didn't mean he had to quit doing everything else in the meantime.

Still chewing his 'meal', he headed to the bridge. Oriole was there already, confirming arrival-times with the ground crew on Greenleaf. She was wearing a peasant blouse that showed off her curves quite nicely, but Jayne couldn't even bring himself to leer. He ignored her and sat in the copilot's chair, focusing on the cortex connection.

Oriole finished the wave with ground control and glanced over to see who'd joined her. Having expected to see the captain, she was a little taken aback to see it was the mercenary. He rarely ventured onto the bridge, and usually when she happened across him elsewhere on the ship, he nailed her with a sleazy little smirk or greeted her with blatant invitations to 'see his guns'. If he'd been even just a touch less blatant about it, she might have given some serious thought to his invites – the man was extraordinarily easy on the eyes, after all. _What's wrong with him?_ she wondered, troubled at his atypical behavior. She might only have been with the ship for a few short weeks, but the man sitting across from her bore little resemblance to the one she'd been living with. _Then again, _she reminded herself, _this is more like how he was acting that first day. Something's on his mind, and it's not like he's got that much mind to spare._ Though she was curious, she pushed it aside. _Not my business._ As long as he left her alone and didn't muck about with the controls, she decided to pay him no heed.

Once the cortex was booted up, the first thing Jayne did was switch the readout from English to Chinese. Granted, it meant having to use the stylus to 'type' instead of the keyboard, but it also meant he wouldn't have to read out loud. He pulled up ship records, then entered into the archive, looking for the report on the Xiao San. He found the record he was looking for and noticed it had already been salvaged. He opened the salvage report, knowing there would be photos if any bodies had been recovered. Jayne was in luck. The Xiao San had, as Pikerton claimed, suffered a catastrophic hull failure. Six of the nine crewmembers had died, either during the initial explosion or by not getting to the escape shuttle fast enough. There had only been four bodies recovered, though. He flipped through them quickly, dismissing the first as 'too old', the second as 'too fat', and the third as 'nope'. The last photo showed what remained of the man he clearly saw in his nightmares. Half his face was charred and blackened, but the other half looked just as it had that day on Silverhold. _Liam Jones. Hope ya suffered._ Jayne felt a fleeting satisfaction that was quickly sucked away by the black hole. He turned the machine off and returned the stylus to its clip above the screen. _An' if ya didn't, guess I got somethin' worthwhile ta look forwards to after all._

* * *

The delivery of paper went well. Doubly-so, since the receiver brought their own men to see to the unloading of it. Breakfast was had at a little café by the name of Briscomb's. Zoë, Mal, and Jayne took one table, with Simon, Kaylee, Oriole, and River across the room enjoying eggs and bacon and honest-to-goodness _orange juice_. The contact for the medicinals turned out to be Wayne Petty himself – a man somewhat older than Jayne who shared Mal's love of 'sticking it to the Alliance' whenever possible. Delivery of 'assorted citrus' was arranged and it went unstated that each of the crates of fruit was going to have a small box of various and sundry medicines squirreled away within.

The arrival of Petty's 'produce' went as expected. Alliance officials did little more than open each crate during their inspection. On seeing nothing more taxable than simple lemons and oranges and grapefruit, the boxes were loaded into Serenity. Under the guise of arranging them, Jayne shifted the crates around while Kaylee surreptitiously removed the medicines and Simon tested them to make sure they were what Petty promised. Mal finished up the paperwork and the ship was back in the air before noon, the secondary cargo safely stowed out of sight. It was two days to Harvest.

* * *

**A/N2:** This is just to clarify something before it has a chance to become an issue: Jayne's headache is _not_ a symptom of ruby fever. I don't know about anyone else, but any time I fall asleep right after crying, I always wake up with a _bitch_ of a sinus headache. That's all it was meant to convey in the story, too. Just so we're all on the same page and all.

Reviews are shiny!


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** It's been a really weird day and it's only 0700.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-One_

Kaylee had dinner duty, something she usually enjoyed, but Simon was off reading and Oriole, Zoë, and River were up on the bridge. Mal was doing 'captainy' things – mostly paperwork and figuring how much of their latest take would go to each person after deducting all the necessaries – in his bunk. And Jayne hadn't been acting like himself all day.

While she figured out what to do with the leftover goat meat Oriole had purchased for them, Kaylee watched Jayne from the corner of her eye. He was sitting at his usual spot at the table, slowly scraping a whetstone down the length of his antler-handled knife. _He ain't talkin' an' he ain't whistlin' an' he ain't hummin'. Tama de, I don't think I heard him say more 'an three words all day._ She decided to simply fry the meat up with some peppers and onions. _That simply ain't like him._

"Just say it," he said, not even looking up from his task.

Kaylee startled a little. "Shen me?"

"Can feel ya watchin' me." He paused and looked over at her. "Somethin's buggin' ya. Spit it out."

She shook her head and focused on cutting a bell pepper into precisely equal chunks. "Ain't nothin'."

The black hole inside him rotated, and suddenly he felt something more than hollow. "Gorram it, Kaylee!" he threw the whetstone on the table. "'Tain't like ya not ta say what's buggin' ya, so go on ahead, ya gong gong qi chi!"

Kaylee's head snapped up at the insult. "I am not!" she shouted back at him, but it was ruined somewhat by the wobble in her voice. "I'm _not_!" The second time it was quieter. The kitchen knife clattered to the surface of the cutting board and Kaylee fled to the engine room, crying.

As quickly as it had sparked, Jayne's temper evaporated. _Aw, hell, Kaylee. I'm sorry. Shouldn'ta said that. Dunno why I did._ He picked up the whetstone and headed for his bunk. Once inside, he slumped on the edge of his bed. "Sorry," he murmured out loud. Making Kaylee cry was like kicking a puppy; no matter how irritating or annoying, afterwards it made a person feel about two feet tall and the biggest gouzaizi in the 'verse.

While Jayne kicked himself in his bunk, Zoë finished up on the bridge and went in search of Kaylee, to see if she wanted to go ahead and start moving their things after supper. On not finding her in the galley, Zoë rolled her eyes and headed downstairs, expecting to find her with Simon. Simon, however, was alone, stretched out on the sofa, reading, so Zoë headed to the only other place Kaylee was likely to be during daytime hours.

"Why's he gotta be so _mean_?" Yep, Zoë's assumption was accurate. She could hear the mechanic talking to the ship from the corridor. "I mean, I know _somethin'_ ain't right with him, but that don't give him no reason to be callin' me a _slut_."

_Wo de ma, what did Jayne do now?_ Zoë hurried a little and entered the engine room to find Kaylee perched in her hammock, petting the bulkhead next to her. "Kaylee?"

The mechanic sniffled and scrubbed a hand across her face. "Yeah, Zoë. Whacha need?"

"Well, I _was_ going to see if you wanted to start moving our stuff after supper, but it looks like you could use an ear."

A watery version of Kaylee's normal smile forced its way into existence. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Wasn't nothin'. I really should finish makin' dinner." She stood.

Zoë halted her exit from the room by way of blocking the door. "Kaylee." The intonation of the mechanic's name was order enough.

Her resolve crumpled and everything babbled out in a flood of words. "Somethin's wrong with Jayne, I know it is! He's skinnier 'an he should be 'cause he ain't eatin' enough ta keep a mouse alive, an' he don't work out no more. An' he's always movin' slower 'an he used ta. An' today he's been all silent on top of ev'rythin' else!"

Zoë closed her eyes and took a breath. _Damn it, Jayne. I know you needed some time to come to grips with it, but I think your time's about up on keepin' this under wraps._ Opening her eyes, she simply said, "I'll talk to him."

Kaylee's regular smile reappeared and she hugged Zoë on her way past. "Would ya?"

Zoë nodded. "You can count on it," she replied. "Go on and see to supper. I'll go track down Jayne."

Back in his bunk, Jayne cradled his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. _Gorram it, Kaylee, I really didn't mean ta hurt ya. Just slipped out. Don't really think on ya like that. Swear it. Just don't want nobody pokin' at me right now. 'Tain't nobody else's business._ The image of her chin doing that wibbly motion flashed through his mind, coupled with wide eyes. That same inner twist flipped again and new anger rushed through his veins.

_Yeah, just drive 'em off, one by one. You really are one stupid gorram hundan. _He shifted slightly so that his head was held just by his left hand, then fisted his right and punched himself in the thigh. The immediate pain of the act managed to break past even the fading haze of the Opianax still in his system. He focused on it, actually relishing the familiarity of what was sure to become a colorful bruise. It drained the latest spike of anger away.

With the anger gone, though, the hollow feeling he'd carried all day tried to make a reappearance. "No, _gorram it._ No. Not goin' there." He mumbled to himself as he pressed a thumb into the center of where his bruise was going to surface. _Tired o' not carin' what I'm doin' or sayin'. Tired o' not bein' able ta think straight. _

_You're just plain tired, honey,_ Kaida chimed in with her two cents' worth. _Ain't nobody's fault, either. Not what happened to me, and not what's happenin' to you. Know ya won't believe me none, but it is what it is._

_I know, sweetheart,_ he thought back at her, idly wondering if carrying on imaginary conversations with his dead wife was as crazy as it sounded. _I _am_ tired. Tired of the huntin' an' the livin' hand-to-mouth. Tired o' the fact it's been fourteen years since I last saw ya, held ya. At least I'm almost done, in ev'ry sense o' the word. Only one left, darlin'._

He ran a hand through his hair. It was starting to get a little long. _Should see iffen maybehaps Kaylee'll cut it for me._ He winced at the memory of her running out of the galley. _Screw it. I'll let it grow._

_I always did love your hair,_ Kaida said and he swore he could feel phantom fingers tingling across his scalp.

A knock at his hatch pulled him back into the real world. "'S open," he called out.

A very angry-looking Zoë descended into his space. "Jayne."

The way she said his name came across as an accusation. He sighed. "Yeah. I'm guessin' Kaylee tol' ya?"

"Something like that," Zoë replied. "I think you should tell her. She's noticed you've not been your typical self lately."

Jayne nodded. "I know. Need ta tell ev'ryone. Just… Don't really know how."

Zoë recognized the lost expression on the mercenary's face as the same one she'd seen in the mirror until recently. Part of her flaked away and her irritation dissipated. "I can do it for you," she offered.

Jayne looked hopeful for all of a half a second before scowling and shaking his head. "Nah. Should be me." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "An' I _will_, just… I wanna wait until after we leave Three Hills. Can ya stall 'til then?"

An uncomfortable thought surfaced in Zoë's mind. She narrowed her eyes at Jayne. "You ain't plannin' on doing something stupid, are you?"

It took a minute for Jayne to realize exactly what Zoë was asking. He laughed, the sound foreign to his own ears. "Cao, no! Nothin' like that! Once that gou cao de liu koushui de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi hundan is taken off the to-do list, I still gotta tell Ma it's over with. Gotta get home after it's all over."

The suspicion disappeared and Zoë nodded. "Then I can stall until then. Maybe." At Jayne's expression, she clarified, "I can't help it if Kaylee takes her observations to Simon. To be honest, I'm surprised he's not noticed anything himself." Jayne smirked a little. It was always good – in his opinion – any time he managed to get one over on Simon. The smirk faded quickly at a light glare from Zoë. "You still need to apologize to Kaylee, though."

"I will," Jayne promised. "Didn't even mean ta say it."

"Tell her that, not me." Zoë left Jayne to his thoughts.

_You didn't tell her what ya got planned for when ya get home._ Kaida sounded disapproving.

_It ain't her business. You know well as me what I got in store iffen I don't do it. An' I ain't goin' out like that. Won't be tied ta no machinery just ta keep breathin' a li'l longer. Ain't my style._ His eyes darted to the drawer where he kept the satchel from Dr. Baker.

_I know, honey. I know._ The phantom fingers caressed his cheek. _Ya got a 'pology ta go give. Don't ya still got some stick-candy hidin' 'round here somewhere?_

Since Mal was adamant about not letting Jayne smoke on the ship – not even in his own bunk – he had a pretty decent supply of suckers and stick-candy in the top drawer of his desk. He climbed to his feet, wincing some as the bruise from earlier joined in the general chorus that was starting to tune up as the painkiller wore off. It didn't take long to find a cherry sucker among his hidden goodies. _Too bad I don't got any strawberry._

_I'm sure she'll forgive you_. Whether Kaida meant for the name-calling or the lack of strawberry-flavor, Jayne wasn't altogether certain.

* * *

**A/N2:** Technically, what Jayne did was to call Kaylee a 'city bus', which, according to the lovely list of Mandarin filth on Wikipedia, is akin to calling someone a slut by way of implying that 'everyone's had a ride'. I cackled when I read that. _Cackled_, I tell you!

Please review. Please. Pretty please. With cherry syrup and chocolate sprinkles.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** I reiterate, today has been a _very_ odd sort of day.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

Kaylee accepted Jayne's peace-offering with good grace. It helped to know that, in his words, 'Yeah, somethin's on m'mind, but I ain't sayin' nothin' on it 'til after we leave Three Hills, so doncha be buggin' me none on it afore then, dong ma?' Jayne spent most of the following day sequestered in his bunk. Her observations, coupled with the promise, just made Kaylee worry more, but she took care to do it quietly. By the time they landed on Harvest to exchange the citrus they'd picked up for locally-grown wheat, she and Zoë had also managed to trade rooms, much to the amusement of their captain.

Speaking of Mal, he was rightly impressed with the multi-stop trade his li'l albatross had come up with. Though the wheat itself would only fetch them about a thousand credits profit, the black market medicines would likely triple or even quadruple that amount. _And feds don't tend to look for smuggled goods in a hold packed full of legal cargo._ He was sitting on the catwalk, watching Jayne and the two guys from the warehouse stack burlap bags of the grain in orderly rows. _Even with his… problem, he's still workin' twice as hard as either of them._ He had to smile a little. _That's what happens when ya pay someone by the hour, 'stead of by the job. Makes 'em lazy._ The smile flickered away as fast as it showed up when Jayne paused and coughed loudly. The sacks sent up little puffs of grain-dust every time they were moved. _What the hell am I gonna do after he leaves? It's hard as gorram hell to find a trustworthy merc._ The thought blindsided him.

_Had us our difficulties at first, I'll grant that. Nearly shot him my own self half a dozen times those first few weeks. And I really was ready to blow him out the airlock after that gou shi fengbao on Ariel. Fully expected him to walk away when I made clear what I planned to do about Miranda. Coulda knocked me over with a feather when, what was it he said? Oh, yeah, 'if ya can't do somethin' smart, do somethin' right'. Then he just cocked that rifle and sat there._ Mal adjusted his position. _When the hell did that hundan grow a set of morals? And how come I never really noticed until now?_

He sighed. _Because he was 'just the merc'. Loud, obnoxious, abrasive. Obsessed with money and sexin'. But Kaylee saw right through him from the start, treating him like some long-lost brother. And Inara put up with more from him than she ever did from me. Think the first thing that really surprised me about him was that first night we had Book on board. I remember Book asked to say grace, and I damn near bit the old geezer's head off. But he followed my rules, and always said it silently. That wasn't the surprising bit, though – it was the fact that my hardass mercenary followed along with it._

Down below, Jayne coughed again. Mal looked a little closer at him. "Y'all about done down there?"

"Just about," Jayne hollered back. "Only got twenty more sacks."

"Step to it then! Ain't got all gorram day!" _Is it my imagination, or is he paler than he was at breakfast? _Mal frowned, the expression settling on his face like an old friend. _Said he'd tell me if he wasn't fit to work. Might've been a bad idea not to inform the doc about it. He don't tell Simon soon, I'm gonna._

Another sigh ripped its way out of him. _And that leads me right back to where I started. What the _hell_ am I gonna do when he's gone? Sure, 'Tross is a fighter, but she looks like a little doll. Nobody'll take her seriously. Besides, even though she's doing better lately, she still has her occasional crazy flashes. She makes a good back-up and I can't deny her reading abilities have come in handy on more than one job, but I need someone who can be intimidating just by bein' there._

He scrubbed a hand across his face. _Someone who won't stab me in the back, isn't a fed or fugitive – had enough of that kinda person to last me a whole gorram lifetime. Intimidating, stays bought, no feds or 'fugees need apply. Oh! Also gonna need to make sure they ain't gonna cause no problems with Zoë, Kaylee, 'Tross, and Oriole. Basically, I'm gonna need a decent human being. Ain't the sort that become mercs. Jayne… Jayne's just the exception on that pa'ticular rule. Damn it, Jayne! Why you gotta up and do this to us now?_

"A copper for your thoughts?" Oriole's voice sounded from his right and slightly behind him.

Mal turned and looked up at the pretty blonde. He favored her with a warm smile. "Not much, t'tell ya the truth. Just wishin' they'd hurry up and load us already. Been dirtside too often this last month."

Oriole arched an eyebrow at him and settled herself next to him. "Are you aware that you can't lie very well?"

"What makes you say that?" As far as Mal knew, he was pretty good at BS-ing. It was part of his chosen career, after all.

"The corner of your left eye twitches when you're lying and you get this faintly disgusted expression about the ends of your mouth, like you just bit into a rotten lemon." She smiled at him. "From the stories Kaylee and Zoë have told me, I would assume that's why you get shot so much."

"I get shot 'cause folks don't like the way I do business, never mind I tell 'em up front that I do the job, and I get paid. Usually, it's that second part what has 'em reachin' for their pistols," Mal explained.

Oriole gave a half-shrug. "If that's what makes you sleep better at night, who am I to argue?"

Mal rolled his eyes. "There a reason you're out here buggin' me and not off doin' piloty things?"

She snickered. "We're parked, in case you haven't noticed. Not a whole lot of 'piloty things' that need doing while landbound. And yes, I did want to tell you something."

"You ain't quittin' on me already, are you?"

She laughed at his panic. "No, not hardly. I find I'm liking it here. No, what I came to tell you is that I just got a wave from my folks on Newhall. The last of my brothers is getting married, so if we manage to find ourselves out that way come New Year's Eve, Momma said, and here I'll quote directly, 'you and whatever bunch of riff-raff you're flyin' for these days are welcome to come to the reception, so long as there aren't more than twenty of you'."

Mal chuckled. "That's still a good four months from now. Remind me again, closer to then."

"Will do, captain," Oriole replied, climbing to her feet. "Looks like they're about done, so I should go see about those 'piloty things' you wanted done."

* * *

**A/N2:** I have no idea why this is, but I'm finding that I am having difficulty getting into Mal's headspace. It's partly why there hasn't been as much of him in this story as there probably should have been. Did I do well? Or does he sound off in the above?

Crack me, folks.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Had more ISP issues yesterday, then I got side-tracked with having to go out and do RL stuff – groceries don't magically appear in the fridge, no matter how much I wish they would...

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

_Gorram dust_, Jayne thought, coughing hard enough that black glitter danced across his vision. _If I knowed grain was all that dusty, I woulda worn a kerchief or somethin'._ It had been six hours since he'd finished organizing the cargo bay, and he hadn't been able to stop coughing since. It wasn't constant coughing, merely a hard string every fifteen or twenty minutes or so, and all the while in between, it felt as though something wearing microscopic climber's spikes was marching up and down the back of his throat. The only thing that seemed to help was copious amounts of water. So, Jayne had set himself in the galley, leaning against the counter, next to the sink, tin cup held loosely in both hands.

All the coughing he was doing, trying to rid himself of the dust breathed in from the sacks of grain, had all but erased the effects of the Opianax he'd taken that morning. Every cough jarred through him, setting off spikes of pain from hands that looked as dirty as Kaylee's normally were, but were bruised and not simply greasy. It twisted over-strained muscles in his shoulders and back into screaming at him and made his kidneys feel like they'd been kicked. His head wasn't too happy with him either, though the headache he could now feel was of a different variety than the one he'd woken with.

He drained the last of the water from his cup and refilled it from the tap, bottling the wince that wanted to escape any time he flexed his fingers. Another surge of that cussed little tickle at the back of his throat climbed out and exploded into the worst string of coughs yet, making every overworked muscle shriek, making his head throb with each concussive burst of air. As he leaned against the sink, his eyes screwed shut and watering, he was incapable of noticing when someone joined him in the kitchen.

It hadn't escaped Simon's attention that Jayne was having a slight problem with the dust from their latest cargo. He hadn't been the only one. Oriole had come to him not long after setting the auto-pilot to head for Three Hills with red, itchy eyes and some sniffling and sneezing. The burlap the grain was packed in had a minor problem with some mildew caught in the coarse weave of the fabric. Nothing serious, and nothing that would affect its edibility or sale value, but enough to cause problems to anyone even slightly sensitive to mold when trapped within the confines of a very small ship with it. He had assumed Jayne's problem was similar.

_This doesn't look like a mild allergy, though,_ he thought, watching the mercenary from only a few feet away. He'd arrived with his kit in one hand and a vague idea about teasing the big guy for actually having some sort of physical weakness. _This…_ His awareness immediately switched on his doctor-eyes. _He's lost weight, _they told him. His eyes flickers over to the only visible patch of skin on Jayne, aside from the back of his neck. _His hands…_ They were clutching the edge of the counter._ They almost look as badly bruised as they would be if someone had systematically crushed each bone. _

The mercenary's coughs subsided, and Jayne made a rather disgusting throat-clearing noise and spat into the sink. "Jayne?" Simon said, his voice carrying an unaccustomed note of uncertainty.

Jayne's shoulders slumped and he rested his head along the cool metal of the rim of the sink. _Damn it._ "Yeah?" he replied, not yet bothering to straighten up.

"You okay?" Simon flinched at how inane that sounded. He could clearly see the man was far from 'okay'.

"Not pa'ticularly," Jayne admitted. Swallowing hard, he levered himself back into an upright position and slowly turned to face the doctor.

_His eyes are bloodshot, and he had definitely lost more weight than is healthy – his face is damn near skeletal. _"Why don't you meet me down in the infirmary? I'll see what I can do." He made the offer, fully expecting Jayne to make some excuse not to take him up on it. Simon watched Jayne close his eyes, brow furrowing as though debating with himself.

Which, in a way, was what was going on. _Honey, ya knew ya couldn't keep this from him forever,_ Kaida chastised him.

_I know that. Was just hopin' for three more days. But I guess that was too much ta ask for, huh?_

_Nah,_ she replied. _Ya know it ain't never hurt nothin' ta ask. But we don't always get what we want._

_Preachin' ta the choir there, baby. Knowed that one ever since ya left._

After nearly a full minute, Jayne simply looked at him and nodded. "Be there in a few minutes."

Simon headed down to the infirmary, a very bad feeling seeping into his bones. _I've never seen him look so… defeated. Something is seriously wrong here, and from how thin he's gotten, it's been going wrong for quite a while. How blind have I been to have missed it?_ While waiting for Jayne, Simon fiddled about with assorted stuff and tried to think back over the past few weeks. _He seemed fine about six weeks ago. Then he got that nosebleed, but everyone winds up with one every now and then. Wasn't serious. Well, for a nosebleed, it was pretty bad, but it was still just a nosebleed._

Sometimes, Simon really wished he had his sister's eidetic memory. _He's been quieter than normal lately. When did that start? Wasn't it about the same time that River roped him into doing that puzzle? Seems to fit._

Further contemplation was halted by Jayne's silent arrival. The man leaned in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, and the other holding on to a small, black bag. Simon realized that wasn't the first time he'd seen him pause and grab hold of something. _Dizzy spells, too._ The doctor gestured to the table. "How long have you been getting dizzy, Jayne?"

"Since leavin' Persephone," Jayne replied. Once the rocking motion stilled, Jayne crossed over to the table and pulled himself onto it. He couldn't hide the tightening of his expression at how his back and hands sang at the exertion.

Something in the mercenary's voice told Simon that he knew exactly what was wrong with him. "Why didn't you come to me?" he quietly asked. "I thought we were past all the trust-issues."

Jayne sighed, and scrubbed his face with the back of his sleeve. Simon noted that he appeared to be cold – he was layered in two t-shirts and his camo-print hoodie – but still small droplets of sweat beaded up as quickly as they were wiped away. "'Tain't 'at I don't trust ya, doc. 'S just I know there ain't nothin' ya can do."

Simon reached for a thermometer, knowing from the man's body language that he believed every word of it, but not yet ready to admit it personally. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Jayne's temperature was higher than normal, but well under dangerous levels.

A strange smile, one Simon simply couldn't classify, surfaced on Jayne's face. "Can tell ya what you're gonna find afore ya run your tests."

"That so?" One of Simon's eyebrows twitched a little higher than the other.

"First off, I'm runnin' hot. Can feel it. 'S what, 'bout a hunnert degrees, ain't it?"

"One-hundred-point-two," Simon confirmed. He might have been impressed by the estimation if he hadn't seen Jayne be just as accurate as the ship's sensors at reading surface temperature, wind speed, and air pressure on just about every clod of dirt they'd ever landed on. He started to reach for his stethoscope, but stopped and sighed. "Fine. I'll bite. You obviously know what's going on. Are you going to share or will you make me figure it out for myself?"

"I know ya won't believe me 'less ya see it for yourself," Jayne replied with a half-shrug. "So ya might as well go on ahead."

Simon crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Just tell me already."

Jayne opened his mouth to reply, but started coughing again instead. Simon steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Though it didn't last as long as the bout he'd witnessed in the galley, it still had Jayne's eyes watering. Simon's breath hitched at seeing that the tears were stained pink. _Definitely serious._ He handed him the box of tissues from the counter, then rummaged around in the cabinets. He seized a small aerosol and returned to Jayne's side. "You should have told me," Simon said, realizing what the bruised hands, the bloodstained tears, and the nosebleed all added up to. He held up the aerosol. "This should put a halt to that cough. For now."

The spray was bitter, but it numbed and coated Jayne's throat enough that the whatever-it-was that had been crawling about wearing spikes on its feet thankfully went back to wherever it came from. Jayne took a deep breath, happy he could actually manage to get air in, but the motion brought complaints from his back once again. Simon noticed the wince though Jayne was unaware it had shown. "Come on, let's see what the damage is."

Over the course of the next hour, Jayne said very little. He hadn't wanted this, had tried actively to avoid this, but despite his best efforts, Simon _knew_. Eventually the poking and prodding finally ceased. "What have you been taking for this?" Simon asked. At the surprised look from Jayne, Simon had to laugh a little. "I'm not stupid, Jayne. You had to have been taking _something_, else we would have buried you two weeks ago."

"Hadn't realized it was that close," he muttered, indicating the little black satchel he'd grabbed from his bunk. "Doc Baker gimme that." Simon opened the bag and inspected the contents, nodding to himself. He could tell from the quantities left in each vial that Jayne had indeed been following the advice of this 'Doc Baker'. "Said it would stretch what time I got left out ta mebbe three months."

Simon shook his head and looked up at Jayne. "Not exactly," he said.

A bolt of panic flooded Jayne's senses. "Whadaya mean by that?"

"Though these are the proper medications," Simon explained, "the only way it would 'stretch' the time that far, so-to-speak, would have been if we were on a core world, with access to the other supporting treatments for Kurohaima; blood filters and the like. Honestly, I'm surprised you're still here. Normally, the medications by themselves only add a matter of a week or two."

Jayne felt all the air in his lungs rush out like he'd just taken a sucker-punch. "I gonna make it home?" he asked, eyes closed again.

"Possibly," Simon hedged. "It depends."

"On what?"

"When you decide to head that way."

"After we get done on Three Hills. Got one last piece of business needs doin' there."

"And we're two days out from Three Hills. How long from there to Silverhold?"

"'Bout a week."

Simon thought, hard, for several minutes. "The amount of damage already done to your organs is serious, and I'm sure you've noticed," he indicated the man's hands, "that this damage has stopped healing. The synthetics you've been taking to help mitigate the damage to your blood vessels aren't keeping up as more and more of your red blood cells succumb to the virus."

"What's all that mean?"

"It's a _maybe_, Jayne," Simon replied. "If you do _exactly_ what I tell you, you _might_ live long enough to make it home."

Jayne met the doctor's eyes. "Just get me there," he said.

Simon checked the readouts from the blood test he'd already ran. He used Jayne's stores to give him another hit of the Opianax, then ordered him to bed.

* * *

**A/N2:** This chapter didn't play out like I thought it was going to. But I like it anyway. Hope you do, too.

Review if ya feel like tellin' me sommat. Gracias.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** We're rapidly approaching the end of this. I'm thinking there's somewhere in the neighborhood of six chapters or so (but I've been wrong about that before, so take it with a grain of salt, please).

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

Jayne honestly tried to follow Simon's instructions, but with the fantastic haze of not-caring blunting the pain he was feeling, he honestly wasn't sleepy. He stood at the foot of his ladder and looked around the cramped, little room he'd called home for the past year and a half. _Longest time I ever stuck with a crew_. The thought flickered across his mind, surprising him. _Has it really been 'at long already? Sure don't seem like it._ He sat at his desk and started to return his satchel to the drawer, but halted. He pulled out the small collection of papers that lived in the drawer.

The captures of his family were on top. The rest consisted of a drawing his son had done – _'Lookit, Daddy! I drewed a deers for ya!'_ – a note from Kaida – _Ran into town. Back soon. Don't touch the cake in the fridge, or you're gonna be sleepin on the sofa!_ – and another drawing, this one done with Kaida's help, marker outlines of his hand, with hers inside it, then Morley's, and the teeny outline of Addie's in the middle – _Hold still, squirmy, Momma won't take long, I promise_. He traced the outlines of Addie's fingers.

"Hope your bein' good for Momma, sweetheart," he murmured, then put the small stack back in the drawer, weighted under the satchel.

He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "Ain't got as much time as I figured." He stood, waited for the inevitable dizziness to pass, then ignored the illusory movement of the walls and knelt on his bunk. He removed the blanket that covered his arsenal and just stared at them for several long minutes. _They ain't goin' back with me. No place for 'em, an' no need for 'em. _He mentally cataloged each, then took three down – two nickel-plated matched pieces and one sleek little .38 – before hanging the blanket back up.

The three guns he took to his desk and disassembled them, cleaning each and every piece, then reassembled them. _Don't got a holster for the Xiao Emo. Wonder if the one I use for the Remmy would fit?_ He checked the cabinet where he kept holsters, sheaths, and ammo-belts. The one he had in mind was a touch too narrow, but he found one that would work. The matched pair had their own belt, and he grabbed it, too. He sat back down and slid each gun into its place, then sat them aside.

_Should prolly see 'bout makin' sure he's gonna know how ta take care of it._ He dug in another desk drawer and came up with a small bound book, roughly five inches high, four or so wide, and not very thick. The cover was cheap press-board, covered in a dark blue fabric. The pages were blank. He took a pencil and started sketching, the motions quick and sure, even though it had been years since he'd last drawn anything.

* * *

Zoë used the excuse of her turn at night watch to make use of the cortex. She managed to confirm that Derrik Lionel was living in Harbor, on Three Hills, and suspected of all sorts of right nasty crimes, though nothing could ever be proven. She was actually looking forward to seeing the man dead.

Simon drifted onto the bridge, interrupting her research. "Mind if I use the cortex?" he asked.

Zoë shrugged. "Go ahead," she deleted her own search. "Lookin' for anything in particular?"

"Just wanted to check a few things in the med journals is all," Simon said, settling on the copilot's chair.

With River about as stable as she was ever going to be, there was really only one reason Simon would have for doing a search like that. "He told you?" Zoë asked, surprised. _Thought he was going to wait until we were done with Lionel._

Simon frowned and fiddled with the cortex controls, switching the display back to English. _Who keeps doing that?_ He glanced over at Zoë. "Whatever I may or may not have been told by any member of the crew in my capacity as ship's doctor is confidential, Zoë."

"That's as good a confirmation as any, I suppose," she retorted. "Anything you can do?"

Simon sighed. "Probably not," he admitted. "But I'm still going to check if any new information is available." He entered the search parameters he needed. While waiting for responses, he ran a hand though his hair. "Was I the last one to find out?"

Zoë shook her head. "No. He's not told Kaylee or Oriole yet. Kaylee's suspicious, though. He said he was going to tell everyone after we left Three Hills."

The search results pinged and Simon glanced through them. "I should have been told immediately."

"Wasn't your call, doc," Zoë said. "Jayne had his reasons."

"Would you share them with me? He wasn't very forthcoming." Simon scowled at the screen. The newest article on ruby fever was over five years old. He switched the cortex off.

A small quirk twitched the corners of her mouth up. "Said he knew you wouldn't stop trying to save him because you hadn't learned you can't save everyone. Said he didn't want to be the one to teach you that."

Simon blinked. "A noble, but unnecessary sentiment," he said, idly wondering just why it didn't sound more wrong to have words like 'noble' and 'sentiment' apply to the man he'd once called a 'trained ape, without the training'.

"How's that?"

The doctor let out a humorless huff of laughter. "I don't know a single doctor that doesn't learn that particular lesson by the time they're done with their internship."

Zoë could see Simon's eyes had switched from looking at her to seeing a memory. "What happened?"

"It was, oh, about six months into my own internship. There'd been an accident involving a ground-car. I never found out why, but its fuel cell exploded. Killed the driver instantly, but his eight year-old niece survived. Had some moderate burns, but nothing too severe. The concussion wave of the explosion did a number on her insides, though. I did all I knew how to do, but she never woke up. Lingered about three weeks before slipping away, and I still don't know _why_. She should've recovered…" Simon shook his head and wrenched himself back into the here-and-now. "There haven't been any new breakthroughs, so there really _isn't _a whole lot I can do."

Zoë knew what Simon was feeling – she was feeling it too. Helpless. Neither one of them liked it, but it was out of their hands.

* * *

**A/N2:** Hope y'all're still with me. Updates might run a little slower starting tomorrow – I'm going to have houseguests for a spell, and I know that won't give me as much time as normal to write.

Please lemme know if you're enjoying this or not. Thanks.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** I'm going to have to reread this later - my niece and her husband and their teeny-tiny offspring have just arrived.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Five_

About an hour before they were due to land on Three Hills, Jayne knocked on Zoë's new door. There was still some fragments of tape clinging to it, but Kaylee had moved her sign and the fairy lights over to her new room. "Damen shi changkai de," faintly echoed through the metal.

Jayne opened the hatch and sat the box he was carrying down on the floor. Once he was most of the way down the ladder, he grabbed it again and stepped into Zoë's new room. "Hey," he said.

Zoë finished shrugging into her jacket and turned around. She hadn't seen much of Jayne since leaving Harvest, and it shocked her somewhat to see how much just two days had managed to change him. He was still tall, but he seemed shrunken in on himself. The heavy canvas coat that once was only baggy now looked more like a child trying on his father's clothes. Jayne's cheeks were hollowed out, and his eyes… The whites were mostly pink, stained with darker spots of brighter red, and a pair of bruised circles underscored each of them. The tips of his ears and nose looked sunburnt. Where his hands clutched the box he carried, she could see his fingertips were black, the nails sporting an unhealthy greenish tinge. She tried to say something – anything – but couldn't get her voice to cooperate.

Jayne knew he looked awful – he had a mirror, after all – and knew Zoë was trying to find something to say, but he decided it wasn't important. He'd not come to her to hear her talk, after all. He handed her the box. "'S for everyone else, after. Make sure it gets done. Not 'til _after_, though."

Zoë nodded and accepted the box. Jayne continued, "Iffen I don't get the chance ta later, Zo', I just wanted ta say thanks for all ya done for me. Weren't for ya knowin' that warden, an' I'd still be lookin'."

Zoë sat the box on her bunk and finally found her voice, "Oh, bi zui, you erbaiwu hundan!"

Without knowing just how it happened, Jayne suddenly found himself with a crying first mate wrapped around him. It was all manner of _wrong_ in his mind. He stood there, awkwardly holding her shoulders with hands that had bypassed pain sometime during the night and were now simply numb for several long minutes. Eventually, her trembling seemed to slow some and he gently pushed her back. "Come on, Zoë. No cryin' when there's crime ta be done."

He ducked out before she could reply, heading for where he knew Mal would be reloading his pistol in preparation for the illegal side of the day's trading. They would have the grain unloaded within about an hour after they landed, and the buyers for the medicines smuggled from Greenleaf were due to show about two hours after that. He did indeed locate Mal in the small closet that served as the ship's armory, only to find he wasn't actively doing anything. Just standing in the middle of the room, turning in a small circle, staring at the walls.

The rack that had been fastened to his bunk wall was now hanging on one side, Vera taking pride-of-place as she always did. Under her, the rest – save the three he'd sat aside and the one he was wearing – hung from their places. Another rack had been added to the wall on the opposite side, this one holding the assorted knives, daggers, and other blades Jayne had collected over the years. The only one missing was the antler-handled one strapped to his hip. A third and final rack was on the wall across from the door. It contained the assorted gun belts, holsters, and bandoliers hanging from pegs.

Jayne leaned heavily against the door frame. "Look good?"

Mal startled a little and turned around. "This your way of givin' notice?"

The mercenary shrugged. "Figured it was better 'an shootin' ya."

"Might be at that," Mal allowed, noticing the same troubling signs his first mate had just a few minutes earlier.

"Afore ya ask, I can deal with t'day. Last one, though," Jayne said, then walked away.

* * *

Much to Jayne's relief, the buyer for the grain had a solid twenty people along with him to unload the merchandise, and contrary to all expectations, even the illegal cargo was paid for and unloaded without bloodshed; insults, sure, but no actual bloodshed. He didn't know – didn't really _want _to know, if the truth be told – just what Mal was told that kept Serenity on the ground for the night. But he didn't much care, either. _It is what it is and I got me some huntin' ta do_.

While Kaylee and Oriole headed off to shop, though there wasn't really anything any of them needed, Zoë joined Jayne and headed to the bar. River followed at a discrete distance. Quiet inquiries lead Jayne to the Green Fist Saloon. Since it was just past nightfall on a planet that was on the downside slide from fall into winter, the bar was pretty busy.

Zoë chose a spot where they could sit and watch for the redheaded man, buying a pair of whiskeys neither of them touched. Neither noticed River slip in and choose a similar out-of-the-way corner.

Tension thrummed in the air.

Every time the door opened, Jayne stiffened, but was disappointed.

And then he saw him, strolling down the stairs at the back of the bar, a bottle-blonde in too-tight clothes hanging off his arm.

Probabilities flitted through River's mind, and she saw Jayne get to his feet. Knowing what the results would be if she didn't act, she immediately got to work. She tripped a barhop, a kid who was only about sixteen or so, and he spilled a full tray of drinks across a burly man who'd been playing poker with three others.

The burly man didn't realize exactly what had happened, and so reacted on instinct, leaping to his feet, upending the table in the process, and punching the closest guy – the kid was still trying to get back on his feet when the much larger man whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time landed heavily on him, knocking him back to the floor.

The fight was on.

River smirked and slipped out a side door, then raced back to the ship, hopeful that she'd not been missed.

Jayne was halfway across the room when a fight broke out behind him. He grinned. _Good. No sense in makin' this any harder 'an it has ta be. Body found after a brawl's always chalked up ta bein' part of the brawl._ The fight grew quickly, and Jayne had to duck twice to avoid first a thrown bottle, then a piece of chair. The whore who'd been hanging off of his prey's arm skedaddled quickly when violence broke out, leaving Lionel standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the fight with faint amusement.

Jayne slipped around a corner and slid up next to him. "Evenin'," he said, as though watching the progress of a brawl was of no pressing interest.

"Evenin' ta you, too," Lionel replied. "Know who started it?" he indicated the mess.

Jayne shook his head and surreptitiously drew his blade. "Nope," he said. "But I got somethin' for ya."

"Oh?" the redheaded man glanced at him. "What's that?"

Jayne held up the knife and grinned. "This." He paused just long enough for a flash of recognition to trigger in the man's eyes, before slitting his throat.

He caught Zoë's eyes and smiled at her. She nodded at him. They made their way through the fight to the door.

Zoë fell into step with Jayne, who was using the sleeve of his coat to clean the knife. Once clean, he slid it into its sheath and then untied the sheath from his belt. He handed it to her. "That goes in the box," he said.

"Feel better?"

Jayne shrugged. "Satisfied," he said. "'S finally over."

Zoë looked out of the corner of his eye. Jayne was standing straighter, like some sort of invisible weight had fallen off of him. Despite the evidence of his illness, he had a faint smile on his face and there was an indefinable aura of relaxation surrounding him that made him seem years younger. "Yeah," Zoë agreed. "It's finally over."

* * *

**A/N2:** Like I said, next few days will have updates running a little slower. Family. Gotta love 'em.

Reviews are like sunshine – warm and fuzzy and absolutely essential to any fanfic author.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Small note – though I've previously kept the worst of the cussing to Mandarin, even PG-13 movies are allowed one F-word (used in a nonsexual manner), so this is where I used mine. Just so ya know an' all, of course. Oh! And I'm in no way affiliated with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

_It's finally done. _Jayne was having a little trouble wrapping his head around the thought. Serenity was shut down for the night, and he stared up at the life-sized nudie pic taped to the ceiling above his bunk. The woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Kaida, save that Kaida had a green and blue dragon tattooed around her right thigh – the woman in the photo didn't have so much as a birthmark marring her skin. _It's finally fuckin' done. Di yi was the one I managed to shoot that day. Di er was the hundan during the war. Di san was Stitch. Di si ge was Pikerton. Di wu was Jonsey. And Lionel makes liu. All six counted. All six paid._

He felt a strange, fluttery sensation start up in the back of his stomach. _Now, it's my turn. _Jayne closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. _Just get me home, God. One last thing left ta do. Gotta tell Ma it's finished. I know ya ain't the sort who grants men like me's prayers, but this ain't for me. Lemme be the one ta tell Ma it's finished. Please just get me home alive._ His breathing slowed and he tipped over the edge into sleep, one last thought piercing the dark behind his eyelids. _Gladly take any punishment ya need me to, walk right inta hell wi' m'head held high, just lemme tell Ma they ain't no threat no more, that they been put down._

For the first time in fourteen years, his sleep was undisturbed by either nightmares or memories of happier times.

Serenity was already in the black by the time he woke. The chrono next to his ladder indicated he'd slept for close on to fifteen _hours_. It was the longest sleep he could remember having since his last growth-spurt when he was seventeen. Even with the last dose of Opianax having long since worn off, Jayne felt…_ good_. Certainly, his hands were numb enough that they no longer pained him anyway, but the pain had migrated to the overstrained muscles in his back and shoulders – without a shirt on, he looked like a walking, talking bruise – with additional songs of agony coming from his kidneys and from his stomach and liver, high soprano notes shrieked from the tips of his nose and ears, with steady bass thrumming coming from his eye sockets and percussive tambourine rattles from his toes. But though he felt it all, he simply didn't _care_. Under it all, despite it all, he simply felt _good_.

Without realizing it, he started humming under his breath as he climbed to his feet and stripped out of his t-shirt and boxers. He tended his bladder and noticed the output was stained with blood. _Just more proof I didn't really need no more. Need ta let Simon know, though. He's got ta keep me breathin' long enough ta see Ma_. He ran a sink full of hot water and cleaned up, daydreaming about a long, hot shower. _When I get home._ Once finished, he pulled on clean boxers and a pair of jeans, pairing it with his striped button-down. He rolled the sleeves to his elbows, then looked at himself in the mirror. Easily seeing past the bruising under his eyes and the redness of his ears and nose, he actually recognized the person looking back at him as the stupid kid he'd once been, back when the most worrisome thing he had to think on was whether or not he'd forgotten his anniversary. _Well,_ he stroked his goatee, _almost._ His hair was the longest it had been since then, too, curling over his forehead and tickling the back of his neck. He reached for his razor. _Glad I ain't got it cut. Ma won't have no trouble recognizin' me._

With the bristles scraped away, he brushed his teeth, then drained the water from the sink and slid it back into the wall. He used the hypospray, making sure to set the doses for each medicine at the somewhat higher levels that Simon had recommended. As he had before, he paused over the synthetic opiate. He was in pain, certainly, but he wasn't positive he really _needed_ the medication. A feminine sigh echoed through his head. _Just take it, sweetheart. I hate seeing you in pain._

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, setting the vial into the port. It was more than half-gone already.

_Why couldn't ya have been this agreeable when we was still together?_ Kaida laughed at him, and Jayne couldn't help but add his own chuckle to the mix.

He put the satchel away and waited for the drug to kick in fully. It took a little longer than before, but when it did, his awareness of the pain slipped away. He bounced to his feet and climbed out of his room, the humming becoming actual quiet singing at some point he hadn't noticed. "Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground," his singing voice wasn't altogether different from his speaking voice, a pleasant, if rumbly, baritone. "Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down." He headed towards the galley, not hungry in the slightest, but wanting company.

Though breakfast and dinner were, when possible, family-style affairs with the whole crew present, lunch was hit-and-miss, grab-as-you-go. Mal was the only one in the kitchen, sipping a mug of actual coffee they'd picked up on Greenleaf. "Now that's somethin' I ain't heard in a goodly while," Mal commented.

Jayne paused in pouring himself a cup of the strong beverage, his singing halting in mid-word. "What?" he asked.

"You, singin'," Mal clarified.

Jayne blinked. "Huh. Didn't realize. Sorry." He shrugged and filled a mug.

"Don't worry about it, Jayne," Mal said as the mercenary joined him at the table. "Was just surprisin' is all. Ain't heard you sing since that last night we was on Haven."

"Ain't had a whole helluva lot ta be singin' 'bout," Jayne replied.

"So what's got ya makin' all canary-like now?"

"Just in a good mood's all," he smiled. "Goin' _home_." Somehow, he managed to pack fleece-lined slippers and cinnamon-baked apples and whittling by a winter fire and warm woolen blankets and swimming in the river and watching clouds roll by on a summer's day into just the one word. "Ain't been back since I left."

"How long's that been?"

"Fourteen years," Jayne sipped the coffee. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam rising from his mug. "Made a promise an' now 'at I finished, 's time ta go home."

Mal took a drink of his own coffee, savoring the flavor just as much as Jayne. "What promise is that?"

Jayne just smiled and shook his head. "Ask Zoë, but not now. Not 'til after I get home."

"I'll do that," Mal said.

"Been thinkin'," Jayne changed the subject.

"Did it hurt?"

Jayne let out a guffaw. "No, an' ya best make nice, else I ain't gonna let ya know what I been thinkin'." He waited for Mal to make a 'go on, I'm listening' gesture. "You're gonna need another set of muscle once ya lemme off on Silverhold, if only ta make sure Kaylee gets her 'scary man discount' at the junkyards."

"Been thinkin' that same thing m'own self." Mal nodded and got up to refill his mug.

Once he'd sat back down, Jayne continued. "You'll wanna look up Miguel Harrison. He's honest an' a good shot – better 'an I am, least at close-range. Afore I come ta work for ya, we run together on better 'an half a dozen crews."

"He ain't like ta stab me in the back, is he?" Mal asked, recalling more than one of Jayne's previous 'coworkers' that he wouldn't have trusted as far as he could throw them.

Jayne shook his head. "Not t'all. Once bought, he stays bought, even if some dumbass hundan offers better pay, run o' the kitchen, an' his own bunk in the middle of a standoff." A wry little smirk twisted his mouth.

Mal was having a little trouble believing Jayne. "What's the downside, then? Sounds too good to be true."

"Well," Jayne stretched the word out. "He has a li'l trouble gettin' work, but it ain't his fault. He don't go nowhere 'thout Shyla, an' there ain't too many crews what'll take 'er on with 'em."

"Okay, who's Shyla?"

"His li'l girl," Jayne explained. "She's…" he thought hard for a minute, "_gorram_, she's twelve a'ready. Ain't _really_ his, but her town was hit by reavers when she was a baby not more 'an a year old. She was the only survivor. Miguel 'dopted 'er."

"Helluva downside," Mal complained. "Don't need kids underfoot."

Jayne shrugged. "Ain't like that, Mal. Last crew we was together on, she was nine. Made herself right useful, doin' mendin' an' cleanin' an' cookin' an' such. She's also pretty damn good with a .22 rifle, too. Ain't squeamish like most girlfolk can get, an' knows better an' ta talk 'bout business matters ta anyone not on the crew. Really think ya ought ta give 'em a chance."

Mal considered it. "I'll think 'bout it. Where would I find this Miguel Harrison?"

"Rents a flat on the Skyplex when he ain't workin'."

Further debate on the matter was halted as Simon and Kaylee arrived chatting at one another, only to fall completely silent for half a heartbeat on seeing Jayne. "Shensheng de gou shi," was managed in stereo by the pair, though for very different reasons.

Jayne had been avoiding Kaylee the past few days, and as a result she hadn't gotten a good look at him in a while. "You look like absolute go se, Jayne! What the hell happened to you?"

Simon was more accustomed to Jayne's haggard and beaten-looking visage, but had noticed two missing details about the man that were just as jarring in their own way as seeing the damages the virus was doing to the mercenary. "Are you barefoot? And you _shaved_ your _goatee_?" He'd never seen Jayne barefoot outside of the infirmary before, and only then if whatever wound needed tending required he remove his boots.

Jayne looked at the similarly-shocked expressions on the faces of the doctor and the mechanic and couldn't help himself. He laughed. Mal had to join in, though he had the good grace to try to hide it. When the laughter finally worked itself out, Jayne grinned at Kaylee. "Know how I look," he said. "An' no, I ain't been doin' anythin' I shouldn't ta get this way. How's about ya round up ev'ryone else for me? I got a few things what need sayin'."

Kaylee glanced over at Mal. The captain nodded and made a tiny 'go ahead' motion. She sprinted for the bridge. In short order, Kaylee's voice was heard over the intercom. "Everyone's presence is requested in the galley."

During the five minutes it took for everyone to drift in from the other parts of the ship, Jayne finished his coffee and poured himself another one, nearly dropping the pot on his foot when a dizzy-spell hit him. He quickly returned to his seat. The tickle in the back of his throat, the coughing that had been triggered by the grain dust that had yet to go away – would actually grow _worse_ as time passed, if Simon was to be believed – started up and he hacked bloody phlegm into a handkerchief. By the time it stopped, everyone was sitting at the table, splitting attention between Kaylee and Mal.

Jayne cleared his throat and took a long swallow of his coffee. "Mal ain't the one who called ya," he said, and all eyes turned to him. "I got a 'nouncement ta make. Our pilot here," he nodded at Oriole, "knows we're headin' ta Silverhold next – an' I'd take it as a personal favor if ya could get us there quick as possible – but only a coupla ya know why. The job we just done on Three hills was m'last. I'm goin' home."

Kaylee gasped, "No! You can't be leavin' us! Cap'n, tell him he can't be leavin' us!"

Mal grimaced. "Kaylee, that ain't up ta me."

"Course it is! You're the cap'n!"

"Kaylee," Jayne interrupted her before she could go on a tear. "It ain't Mal's decision. 'S mine." Seeing the mechanic was ready to argue the point, he held up a hand to silence her. "Take a good long look at me, Kaylee-girl. I ain't got another job in me, an' ev'ryone here can see that. Would ya make me die out here in the black when there's a chance I can see my mother one last time?"

"No," she repeated, and everyone could tell it was more of a general denial at the situation than in response to Jayne's question. "Simon!" she turned to her boyfriend. "You need ta make him better! You're the doctor, so drag his pigu down to the infirmary and _fix him_!"

"Kaylee," Simon sighed. "I can't. D'you hear me? I _can't_. Jayne's sick, it's ruby fever, and there's _nothing _I can do about it but make him comfortable, which I'm already working on. He can't be _fixed_."

"No!" she shouted it this time, then sprang from her seat and ran from the room.

"Go after her, doc," Jayne ordered. "Try an' explain – I'll drop by later an' talk once she's calmed down some."

Simon was already halfway out of his seat before Jayne finished. "Sorry," he said, then hurried after his girl.

Jayne didn't get the chance to speak to Kaylee until the next day. Knowing how important family was – and having a few words with Simon who told her just how serious Jayne's condition was – had Oriole up their speed to a full burn, so Kaylee was staying in the engine room, monitoring things.

Jayne headed down the corridor, having to stop twice as dizziness and coughing interrupted his progression. "Kaylee?"

Kaylee sniffled and looked up at him from where she sat in her hammock. "Jayne…"

He leaned against the wall, but Kaylee sat up and shifted over. She motioned for him to join her on the hammock. It didn't help much with the hallucinatory motion caused by the Opianax, but it did take pressure off his feet, which were rapidly degenerating to a similar state as his hands. She cuddled up next to him and cried onto his shoulder. Jayne gave her a few minutes before shushing her. "Come on, Kaylee-girl. Shouldn't be cryin' none over an old hundan like me."

"You ain't a hundan," she mumbled.

"Sure I am," his tone indicated that he wasn't going to let her argue the point.

"Fine," she said. "But you're _our_ hundan."

"Yeah, guess I am at that."

"Dunno what we're gonna do wi'out you."

"Keep on keepin' on," Jayne replied, lightly rubbing his hand up and down her back. He'd lost nearly all sensation in his hands and could only hope he wasn't being too rough. "Mal'll come up with half-baked plans 'at _always_ go south. Zoë'll make 'em a li'l more workable. Moonbrain'll do that psychic thing and save their pigus at the last minute, but not afore someone winds up shot – prolly Mal. The doc'll patch 'em up. An' Kaylee-girl'll keep Serenity flyin' so Oriole won't be out a job. An' somewhere in all that, Simon an' ya will get married an' have a coupla kids ta drive Mal nuts, though we both know he'll be the first one in line ta spoil 'em rotten."

Kaylee managed a halfhearted laugh. "Prolly so." They sat in silence for several long minutes. "Are you scared?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of dyin'?"

Kaylee nodded.

"Nah. Ain't been scared o' dyin' in a good long while. Mercs like me, we don't tend ta live long enough ta retire. Came ta terms with it a long time ago. Nah, I ain't scared o' dyin' any. Don't much care on the _how_, though, an' 'at's God's honest truth of it."

Kaylee hugged him a little harder. "Don't like it much m'self."

"I know," Jayne murmured, still rubbing her back. "I know."

* * *

**A/N2:** Ah, the niece and her SO and their sprog are sleepin'. I should be, too, but I always was a night-person. I just hope the sprog is well-behaved. I can sleep through just about anything but a crying baby.

Reviews make the 'verse go 'round. No, not really, but they are pretty nifty things to see in my inbox and always manage to make my day a little more squee-worthy. So, if you've a mind to, lemme know how I'm doing. If not, I still thankee kindly for reading.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Also don't own E. A. Poe, though the poem quoted herein is my second-favorite of all time.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

"We're going to wind up landing on fumes," Oriole said, making slight course-corrections. "Won't be enough to even break atmo off-world, to say nothing about getting to a fueling station."

Mal frowned. "Any way we can stop at a station beforehand?"

Oriole shook her head. "Only if you want to delay our arrival on Silverhold by at least a day."

River looked up from the copilot's seat. "The worry is unnecessary," she commented.

"You know somethin' li'l 'Tross, you'd best make with the sharin' of it," Mal calmly returned her gaze.

"We'll refuel on Silverhold," she simply said.

"Aren't any refueling stations there," Oriole objected.

River smiled. "Not for ships," she nodded. "But most of the heavy mining equipment uses the same fuel cells as Serenity. And the Cobbs are very highly respected."

The look leveled her way by the pilot was blatantly skeptical, while Mal's was more speculative. "I'll trust ya on this one, 'Tross. How long before we land?"

It had been five days since they'd left Three Hills, and the trip between there and Silverhold normally took a full seven. However, going hard-burn should shave a nice chunk of time off that estimate. "Approximately three hours," Oriole replied before River could. "Do we know yet just _where_ I'll be landing?"

Mal shook his head. "Not yet. I'll send Jayne this way, have him give ya the coordinates."

The captain headed down to the common area. The past few days had seen Jayne's condition rapidly deteriorate. He'd gotten bad enough that he could no longer climb the ladder up and down into his room. Simon had wanted to move him into the infirmary, but that idea was shot down completely. Jayne hadn't yelled, not even a little, but he hadn't bent at all on the idea, either; he simply kept repeating 'I ain't gonna be hooked up ta no machines, doc, 'tain't my way,' until Simon eventually backed down.

So, instead of the infirmary, Jayne had spent the better part of the last two days wrapped in blankets on the couch. And that was exactly where Mal found him, talking with Zoë. On hearing Zoë's voice, however, he halted on the stairs, just out of sight. "…ya a question, Jayne?" Jayne's voice rumbled an affirmative. "When… When ya get there, you tell that man of mine I miss him, ya hear?"

There was silence for nearly a full minute before Jayne replied. "Ah, hell, Zo'… I'm sure Wash knows 'at. 'Sides, I doubt I'm gonna see 'im. Your man was a good one, Zoë. Ain't no way he wound up where I'm headed."

"Ni ge gou pi! Jayne…" Zoë sounded distressed.

"No, don't," Jayne replied. His own voice carried a bit more gravel than it had before. "I ain't been a good man, an' we _both_ know it. Kilt a mess o' folks, an' it weren't 'cause of war or ta save m'self or others. I got _paid_ for damn near all of them. An' them as I didn't take payment for, I honestly _enjoyed_ killin' 'em." Jayne's words were interrupted by a wet, hacking cough. After it finally subsided, he finished with, "God don't take kindly ta either scenario."

"The way I understand it," Zoë countered, a familiar uncertainty threaded through her words, "is that if you're sorry for it, God has to forgive you."

"Not quite how it works, but close enough, I suppose," Jayne blithely agreed. "Only thing wrong there is assumin' I'm sorry for any of it. If I got any regrets 'bout my life, the only thing what fits the bill is that I'm sorry it took me fourteen years ta find 'em."

Further conversation was halted once more by coughing. Mal, feeling a little like he'd just been sucker-punched in the stomach, figured it was a good time to appear. _No sense in Jayne havin' ta try an' make sense of one of Zoë's rambles on how the Christian religion don't make any sense. 'Sides, I heard enough of those lectures back in the war – I really don't need ta hear it all again now I agree with her._ He strolled over to the couch and waited for Jayne to quit coughing. The cough might have started life as a simple reaction to an airborne irritant, but Simon had explained that the tiny shards of glass accumulating in his blood were shredding the blood vessels in his innards, and his lungs were badly damaged; Jayne was drowning in his own blood. The man's complexion was mottled, bruised where it wasn't turning yellowish, with his lips a delicate blue color – Jayne's liver had started shutting down, as had his kidneys. _Don't care if we gotta pay through the nose ta have fuel _delivered_ to us. I don't think Jayne has more 'an another day or two on the outside._ "We'll be landin' here in about three hours or so," he said, once Jayne's coughs subsided.

Jayne grinned brightly. "Good," he said.

"Speakin' of landin', Jayne – just where is that gonna be? Silverhold's got several docks, but they're all for the mines."

Jayne gave the coordinates of his family's homestead. "There's an empty place, desert scrub, 'bout two hundred yards south of the house what should do ta park."

"We ain't gonna have problems, are we?"

Jayne shook his head. "Nah. Once we land, I'll wave Uncle Ken. He'll take care of ev'rythin'."

"Who?"

Jayne smirked. "Not really m'uncle. Ken Darby. He was Pa's chief deputy an' now runs district seven."

Mal blinked. "Wait, _what_? You mean ta tell me your father was a _planetary marshal_?"

Jayne chuckled and Zoë joined him. "Yeah, he was."

Mal looked from Jayne to his second in command and back again. "Huh." He shook his head and sighed. "Guess ya learn somethin' new every day. S'pose I best let Oriole know where ta set down."

After Mal headed back to the bridge, Jayne yawned. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wouldja do me a favor, Zo'?"

"What?"

"Have Simon wake me up, 'bout half an hour afore we land?"

"Sure," she said, climbing out of the leather recliner that faced one end of the couch. "Sleep well, Jayne."

As had been the case since Three Hills, Jayne did just that. Almost before he knew it, Simon was shaking his shoulder. Jayne clawed his way out of the velvety black and pried his eyes open. "We're there?"

Simon nodded. "Mal said we'll be landing in about forty minutes or so."

"Good," Jayne smiled. "Need a favor, doc."

Simon closed his eyes and swallowed. He knew what Jayne was going to ask. "I won't be able to talk you out of it, will I?"

"Nope," Jayne agreed. "Best all-around, an' ya know it. Done tol' ya a'ready, I ain't gonna be chained ta no machines." Jayne struggled a little with the heavy blankets wrapped around him and managed to get himself into a sitting position. "Ma wouldn't be able ta keep from tryin', an' I never could tell 'er no, not when it was somethin' important ta 'er." A small series of coughs interrupted. "'S better this way. An' I'd take it as a kindness if ya kep' it quiet."

Simon nodded, resigned. "I'll do that, Jayne. But are you _absolutely certain_ about this? It's not something that can be taken back or done over if you change your mind."

"I'm sure, doc," Jayne replied without hesitation. "I'd do it m'own self, but…" Two pairs of eyes darted to his now-useless hands, the flesh blackened and puffy, streaks of sickly discoloration arching halfway up to his elbows.

Simon reached for the small black satchel sitting on the coffee table. Opening it, he ignored the injection gun and vials in favor of the small box secured under them. He stared at the preloaded syringe containing an oddly pretty periwinkle liquid. Simon knew it as Clementia, though for reasons unknown to him, it had acquired the street-name of 'Brompton Cocktail'. It had been developed nearly fifteen years earlier as a possible cure for Kurohaima, but what worked to cure rats and monkeys didn't work so well on human beings. It wasn't a cure at all, but it _would_ bring some measure of comfort. Simon picked up the syringe. "It will take about twenty minutes to take effect," he said, removing the cap from the needle.

"I know, doc." Jayne had been told as much by Dr. Baker. "An' I know it'll get me on m'feet again. But when I go ta sleep t'night, I won't be wakin' up again. An'… I'm alright with that."

"I'm not," Simon muttered. He slid Jayne's sleeve up past his elbow. "We had a class on this, back at the MedAcad."

"How's that?"

"It was on how to deal with terminal patients. The ethics of euthanasia."

"Youth-a-what-a?"

"Assisted suicide's what most people call it. What I'm doing now." He slid the needle into a vein and depressed the plunger. "I was always so supremely confident, arrogant you might say, that life – any life – was preferable to dying." He removed the needle and returned it to the little box, then tugged Jayne's sleeve back into place. "And now I find myself standing on the other side of the debate." He looked into Jayne's bloodshot eyes. "There are times when the best thing a doctor can do is help their patient find rest."

Jayne returned Simon's gaze. He saw sadness and sympathy shimmering across the kid's eyes. The poison tingled, racing through his system, and for the first time in days, he could feel his hand. He flexed his fingers. "Every man livin' has the right ta die how they wanna, Simon. An' it ain't up ta no gov'ment or any fancy ethics class ta make that decision for 'im." He tapped the underside of the doctor's chin. "Ya did the right thing, an' don't ya let nobody ever tell ya any diff'rent, dong ma?"

Up on the bridge, River froze, her gaze fixed on something far distant from where Mal was standing. "Vainly he had sought to borrow from his guns surcease of sorrow," she murmured. "Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe." Gooseflesh trickled down Mal's neck as he recognized the poem she was quoting from. "This and more he sits divining, with his head at ease reclining, on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er." Her eyes suddenly refocused, and landed on Mal's. "And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, on the pallid bust of Pallas just above his chamber door; and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; and his soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore."

"What?" Oriole broke the tension by simple expedient of being confused.

"Ain't nothing important," Mal said, not noticing the corner of his left eyelid twitching. "Just set us down."

Once Mal had vacated the bridge, Oriole looked at River. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

A sad smile stretched across River's face. "Jayne," she said, as though it explained everything. And to her, it did.

* * *

**A/N2:** The visiting family has gone to deal with the leasing office, so I had some time I hadn't been expecting. Still no guarantees on how quickly additional chapters will be posted, though – we're still at least three or four chapters from the end.

Review if you will, don't if you must, but either way I thank you for reading.


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** Not over yet, but getting close.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Eight_

Radiant Cobb certainly lived up to her name. She met the crew as the airlock hatch slid open, standing a full inch taller than Mal, with long, curly black hair that was only just beginning to gain streaks of grey at the temples. Though she wore dusty jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, her posture made it seem as though she were wearing one of Inara's most expensive costumes. There was a quiet calmness about her, as though greeting spaceships in her back yard were an everyday occurrence, that was at war with the bright joy shining from eyes the exact same shade of blue as her son's. "Jaynie? That really you, baby?"

Jayne stepped out of the shadows of Serenity's cargo hold and ambled down the ramp. "Yeah, Ma. It's me," he said, approaching her. He stopped at arm's length and looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dust. "I'm home," he murmured.

Radiant laid her hands on her boy's shoulders, taking note of the odd discoloration his face sported. "Never thought ta see ya again," she replied.

Jayne looked back up at his mom. "It's done," he stated. "All paid in full."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Thank you," she prayed. Opening her eyes once again, she pulled Jayne into a tight hug. "You're a good boy, Jaynie. A good son."

Jayne burrowed his head into his mom's shoulder and breathed deeply of her scent – a combination of hay and fresh bread and apple cider that told him he was well and truly _home._ Eventually, though, he broke the embrace. "Come on, Ma, I got some folks 'at's waitin' ta meet ya."

Mal watched as Jayne greeted his mother, somewhat surprised as Radiant looked nothing at all like he'd pictured. He'd been expecting someone short and chubby and all smiles and crude humor, but the woman Jayne had his arm around was tall and slender and moved with the same self-contained grace her son had once possessed. "Ma," Jayne said, coming to a stop in front of Mal. "This is Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Mal, this is my mother, Radiant Cobb."

"Ma'am," he greeted her.

"Captain Reynolds," Radiant nodded at him. "Thank you for bringin' my boy home safe."

"Weren't no never mind, ma'am," he replied. "Least we could do. Jayne's crew."

She smiled a little. "I understand," she said. Mal was pretty sure she did, too, and not just the obvious. _That is definitely one lady I don't wanna be on the wrong side of._

Jayne tugged his mom a couple of steps over and finished introducing the rest of the crew. Afterwards, Radiant and Jayne lead them to the two-story farmhouse. "Where's Kelly?" Jayne asked.

"She an' Harl an' the kids moved ta River Canyon when Mattie took sick," Radiant explained. "They come an' visit regular, but don't live on the home-place no more." They reached the house, and Jayne opened the door. Radiant stepped to one side and addressed the crew, "Make yourselves at home. There's juice an' water in the ice-box in the kitchen, glasses are in the cupboard by the sink. It's a mite early here for alcohol, but if you're late in your day, I got hard-cider, beer, and some whiskey if you'd rather."

It managed to surprise everyone how easily they fell into the welcoming and homey atmosphere of Jayne's mother's house. They congregated, by chance or design no one knew, in the kitchen, drinking an assortment of beverages and trading stories with Radiant about the man they all had in common. Jayne had excused himself pretty early on and headed outside. About fifty yards behind the barn, right on the edge of the forest line, stood the Cobb family cemetery. Jayne strolled through knee-high grass over to the corner where his family was buried.

It was well over an hour before anyone noticed Jayne's disappearance. Radiant was in the midst of preparing supper for them all, with flour up to her elbows, and had roped Kaylee into helping chop veggies. Mal drained his glass of cider and stood, saying he'd go look for him. It took him close to half an hour to find Jayne, and when he did, he couldn't decide whether or not to be surprised to find him apparently having an animated conversation with a tombstone.

"Jayne?" Mal called out.

Jayne looked over his shoulder and gave Mal a halfhearted smile. "Hey Mal. Ma send ya after me?"

"I volunteered," Mal replied. "Whacha doin'?"

"Just talkin'," Jayne said, gesturing to a chunk of marble that sported the name Kaida Cobb and a date nearly fifteen years earlier. A shallow carving of an exceptionally beautiful woman adorned the place where most modern markers had a holograph of the deceased.

"Who to?" Mal asked.

"Kaida," Jayne said, tracing the carved lines of the woman's face. "M'wife."

Mal had once thought that there was absolutely nothing left in the 'verse that could surprise him. _I was wrong_. "Your wife?"

Jayne nodded absently, and stepped to one side. He knelt and cleared the overgrown weeds away from the statue next to his wife's grave. Mal had, at first glance, thought this to be simply one of many cherubic statues that tended to pockmark any graveyard, but when he looked a little closer, the statue wasn't religious in nature. It showed a little boy of about three, holding a chubby, smiling little baby. The pedestal on which the pair sat said _Morley Cobb_ and _Adelaide Cobb_ with the same date as was on Kaida's stone.

Peering even closer at the stone faces of the children, Mal could see the resemblance to the carved face of Jayne's wife as well as echoes of Jayne himself. He recalled that Jayne had said he hadn't been home in fourteen years. Seeing the graves in front of him told him why. "Wo de ma he ta de fengkuang de waisheng dou," he breathed. "How come you ain't never talked about them?"

"Weren't anybody's business," Jayne said simply. He finished his task and stood, facing Mal once more. "An' 'sides, wouldja've believed me iffen I had?"

Mal's shoulders slumped. "Prolly not," he admitted.

Jayne just smiled at him. He stood next to the captain for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, staring at the stones. Eventually, he pulled himself back and bumped Mal's shoulder with his own. "Come on. I been dreamin' of Ma's pot-pies for nigh on ten years now. Let's go see if they're ready."

"…ya don't gotta dance around it any," Radiant's voice carried through the screen door as they approached. "I know right well how m'boy's been earnin' the money he sent home. Has my full approval on it, too."

"Wait," Simon interjected as Mal and Jayne entered. "Let me see if I have this straight – you actually _approve_ of the fact that your son gets paid to _kill people_?"

"Why would I disapprove?" Radiant asked, crimping the crust closed on the last pie. "Ain't seein' as ta how it's any different than a soldier, an' the last time I heard, a momma had the right ta be proud of a son what was a soldier."

"But there's a world of difference between the two," Simon argued.

"No, there isn't," River stuck her tongue out at her brother. "Radiant is right and you're wrong, Simon. Besides, it's not your place to say either way on it."

"The more I learn about how things are out here," he muttered, "the less I understand."

"Ah, ain't no bother, Simon," Jayne said, sitting next to the doctor. "It'll make sense for ya someday."

"I can only hope so," Simon replied, making most of the people seated at the big table in the Cobb kitchen laugh.

Supper was as delicious as Jayne's memory had promised. Dessert – apple cobbler – was even better. But the best part, in his opinion, was finding out that not only did his mom like the crew, but that they seemed to truly like her, too. Radiant set them up in rooms that once belonged to her sons and daughter, along with a guest room, and a pull-out bed in her sewing room. It was a little crowded, but everyone fit. Stuffed with good food, better beer, and feeling lazy from the oven-like heat of a hot summer day, nearly everyone found bed early.

Jayne sat on the porch swing, sipping a glass of cold cider, staring not at the sky as he had when he was a boy, but out across the land he'd grown up on. "Your momma made noises 'bout takin' ya ta see a doctor tomorrow. But Simon pulled her aside and talked with her for quite a while," Zoë's voice was quiet, underscored by crickets.

Jayne nodded. "Thank him for me, wouldja?"

"I will," Zoë replied.

Jayne finished off the cider and sat the glass on a small glass-topped table next to the swing. "Forgot how pretty it was here."

"It is beautiful. Hot," Zoë chuckled. "But pretty."

"Think I'll sleep out here," Jayne murmured. "Ain't slept outside in longer 'an I can recall." He yawned.

Zoë settled onto the swing next to him. "Sounds like a plan to me," she said, propping her feet on the porch rail. The swing creaked a little, a gentle and perfect accompaniment to the sounds of crickets and the wind sighing through dry grass. Zoë's eyes took in the darkened yard, then tracked upwards as a meteorite flashed across the sky.

"Make a wish," Jayne said.

"Shen me?"

"'S an old custom, from Earth-that-Was. Called meteorites 'fallin' stars'. Any time ya seen one, you're s'posed ta make a wish. Don't tell nobody what it is, though, else it won't come true."

"Think I like that custom," Zoë said, making her wish.

Jayne yawned again. He stretched his long legs out and hooked his ankles over the rail next to Zoë's toes. "'S gettin' late. Ya might wanna go find 'at bed Ma give ya."

"I will, in a bit. Just want to sit here a while longer."

Jayne nodded. "Don't mind if I fall asleep on ya?"

"No, Jayne, I don't mind."

Zoë didn't know how long she sat there, watching the night and hearing the unfamiliar but comforting sounds of wind and crickets and the occasional lowing moo from a cow in the Cobb's barn. As the night deepened, she could feel Jayne's breathing coming slower and slower. She took his blackened hand in her own. "Always did think Mal was wrong," she whispered. "Ain't nobody gotta die alone."

She hung on to his hand until his breathing quit altogether.

The eastern sky was just barely stained pink.

* * *

**A/N2:** Still ain't over, folks. Still got a li'l more ta come on this one.

Please lemme know what y'all're thinkin'. Thanks.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** One more chapter to go.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Twenty-Nine_

It was a simple service; Harl, Jayne's little sister's husband, proved to be a good hand with carpentry, though he seemed a touch angry, muttering all the while about how Jayne couldn't have waited 'one more gorram day'. Kelly was devastated, and her melancholia made her children – ranging in age from Mattie, at a year and a half, up to a set of seven year old twins – unruly. Radiant seemed to take it all in stride, however, accepting with good grace and polite refusals that she didn't really mean the help the crew of Serenity offered. A small bit of drama consisted of when Kelly called the local Shepherd, only to be succinctly turned down. It sent her into a crying fit that only Radiant could deal with. "What did you expect, sweetie?" she muttered into her daughter's hair. "You know he never approved of me sending Jaynie out like I did."

The only other thing that didn't go quite as they had planned was when Kaylee offered to help pay for the grave marker. "Be nice ta get the same hands as did these," she gestured to the stones for Kaida and Jayne's children. It had come as something of a surprise to those who hadn't already known when most of the stories told after the funeral centered on Jayne's family.

Harl looked up at Kaylee, finishing pounding a simple metal spike into place – the spike would do until a stone marker could be purchased. "Ain't disagreein' none, Miss Kaylee," Harl said. "But that'd be a mite on the dif'cult side, bein's the hands what carved them stones is the very same what just got laid ta rest. Was afore my time, but Radiant said Jayne done 'em 'cause he didn't trust no one else ta get it right." Kaylee only had one reaction to that – her eyes overflowed and she raced back to the house, throwing herself into Simon's arms.

Even while dealing with everything else, Radiant managed to contact some of her friends, and they came and switched out Serenity's fuel cells with fresh ones, fully charged. When Mal tried to pay her for them, she simply shook her head. "You brought him back ta me, Malcolm, an' not in a box. He weren't in good shape, I grant, but he was walkin' on his own power. It was more 'an I ever expected ta have, once he left." Mal simply waited until she wasn't in the room, then stuffed the cash he would have had to pay for the fuel at a station into a plastic container in a kitchen cupboard. _She'll find it eventually._

Despite repeated invitations to stick around for 'a few days', Serenity lifted off the day after she was refueled. A subdued group sat around the galley table, their autopilot taking care of the necessary driving for the time-being. They planned to drop by the Skyplex – an easy three-day jaunt. Zoë looked around the group, knowing a similar expression was cemented to her own face, then remembered something. Without a word, she bolted for her room, grabbed the box Jayne had given her, then rushed back.

"Whacha got there?" Kaylee asked, all traces of her usual enthusiasm gone.

"Jayne gave this to me. Thought we should take a look," she replied, opening the flaps.

Inside the box were six envelopes, the knife Jayne had handed to her back on Three Hills, and five lumpy packages wrapped in brown paper. Zoë pulled out the envelope that had her name printed on it in Jayne's cramped printing. "What's it say, Zoë?" Oriole asked.

Zoë cleared her throat and read it aloud.

_Zoë,_

_Can't think there's much left ta be said tween us. Said it all an then some. But there's one part o'my story what I ain't tol ya._

_Recall me sayin the one hundan got his in the war? I was workin for Blue Sun at the time, transport security, like I done for Mal all this time, only legit-like. Had me a uniform an evrything. It was one o'them things what I tried doin afore merc sorta settled on me like mornin fog. Anyways, I wish I could say we was makin a delivry ta the Liance, but I ain't gonna start fibbin this late in the game. My partner an me was guardin the cargo, waitin on pickup. The guy was runnin late. After near on a hour o'waitin, Steve had ta find hisself a shrub. So he ducked over this low hill an just as he git outta site, the guy we was waitin on shows up. I reknized him rite off – he was the sumbitch what kilt my baby brother Jax. He signed for the supplies, then reached up ta trigger his com an m'instincts jus kicked in. Cut his throat from ear ta ear. Only barely managed ta git him stashed in one o'the crates when Steve come back. I tol him the guy showed an signed while he was off drainin the lizard so we could go. I quit Blue Sun jus as soon as we got back ta the Skyplex._

_I wancha ta have m'knife. It was the first weapon I got what weren't meant for huntin deers an antilops an such. Its the very same one what landed me in the hospital the day m'family was kilt, an save for the hundan I shot that day – an that lucky sumbitch what died in the transport – its played a roll in takin down each o'the othern, an save for how we met, its always been lucky for me._

_Take care o'yerself,  
Jayne Cobb_

"What was that story about, Zoë?" Kaylee asked.

Zoë took the knife out of the box and sat down; in truth, her knees couldn't have supported her much longer. It took her a solid hour to tell what she could remember of the story Jayne had told her. Once it was told, everyone sat in silence for several minutes, trying to digest it. Zoë halted the depressive thoughts and pushed the box to Mal. "Looks like we each have something, sir."

Mal stood and peered into the contents. "So we do," he said. He grabbed a tiny package with his name on it and the corresponding envelope. He opened the package first and found a small purple bag. In it was a diamond ring that he'd last seen in a photograph in Radiant's living room, gracing the finger of the then-Kaida Tanaka. He frowned at it, and opened his letter, following Zoë's example in reading it out loud.

_Mal,_

_I know you an me ain't never really seen eye ta eye on any manner o'subjects, an I'm pretty sure ya ain't gonna morn overmuch bout my passin, but I wanna get a few things straight._

_I dunno if ya recall it none, but ya once asked me why I din't turn on ya back when that fed tried an buy me off when the doc an his sis first got on the boat. I tol ya the money weren't good nuff. We agreed twould be an innerstin day when the money __was__ good nuff. What you was thinkin was prolly on the backstabbin an the possible harm to ya own hide. What I was meanin were that there weren't nuff money in the verse ta git me ta backstab ya. Yer the best gorram captin I ever served unner. When I did what I done on Ariel, I din't see it as backstabbin __you__. I was gittin a possible murderous lunatic off the ship, one I was sure was gonna bring the whole Liance down on us. Din't help overmuch she stabbed me none, neither. The money I got offered was jus a bonus. I was gonna send it ta Ma. But then I saw what them hundans did ta that girl, hackin on her brain an all, an if I hadn't already called em at that point, I woulda jus stuck with the plan. But I'd called when the doc an his sis was still out an I knowed they wasn't gonna be to happy if we jus disappeared. You an Wash an Kaylee an Zoë an Book an Inara din't need a passel o'angry lawmen ridin yer pigus, not for sommat I did. So I let em take us. I admit I was hopin they mite gimme the money rite there, an we'd have it for a bonus when I got us away, but it din't pan out that way. Found out why you hate the Liance so much – gorram buncha motherless bastards, the lot of em. If I ain't knowed it already, once the screamin started up behind us, I really knowed it then that what I done was wrong. Its why I din't try that hard when ya had me in the airlock. Had anythin happened ta either one of em after the screamin started, I prolly woulda et m'own gun. Jus wanted ya ta know that._

_Now, yer prolly wondrin why I give ya the ring an thinkin all manner o'crazy noshuns. Ain't what's no dout crossin yer mind. I give that ring ta my Kaida when I was 18. If I could manage ta tell the one woman I ever loved that she means more ta me than anythin else in the whole gorram verse all combined when I was jus a fumblin stupid kid, surely ya can manage ta somehow tell Inara the same damn thing. Life don't last forever, ya know._

_On that same track, there's a list o'things ya wanna keep in mind when dealin with womenfolk what yer all seriouslike with. Don't roll yer eyes at me, Mal. Kaida an me was __happy__. Mainly cause I followed the direkshuns._

_1. Quit callin her a whore. Ain't respectable. Don't matter she is one, ya don't call her that. Ever._

_2. If she gits mad at ya, pologize. Even if it ain't yer fault. Make that __specially__ if it ain't yer fault. Womenfolk set great store by pologizin. Flowers is always good, but prettys what won't die are better, specially if theys cost a lotta coin. Don't skimp – she'll know. Dunno how they do that, but she'll know if ya skimp._

_3. Whatever else ya mite fergit, don't fergit her birthday nor the anaversarry. The couch ain't that comfy. See suggestin 2._

_4. Let her know evry damn day how much she means ta ya. Ya never know what part o'the enjin's gonna blow up or fall off next an ya don't want no regrets._

_5. Give er flowers an doodads for more an jus special day or pologys. I know Inara's favrit flowers are dasies – don't ask how, I ain't too sure ya really wanna know. O, an I ain't met a woman yet what din't like havin her hair brushed for her._

_If ya don't take me seriouslike on this, I'm gonna crawl my way outta hell an haunt yer dumb pigu til the end o'time, best captin or no._

_Jayne Cobb_

"That's some good advice there, sir," Zoë said.

"Jayne Cobb – closet romantic," Mal replied, letting out a wet laugh. "Who'da thunk it?"

Genuine laughter, flavored with tears as the captain's had been, met the quip. "You gonna follow his advice, Cap'n?" Kaylee asked.

Mal shrugged, "I don't rightly know yet, Kaylee. Hafta think on it some." He looked into the box. "And you're next."

"Come on, gimme," Kaylee bounced in her seat, reaching for the box as Mal slid it across the table. Her package flopped. She knew what it was even before she opened it. Sure enough, the orange-and-yellow hat his mother had sent him all those months before was revealed when the last of the paper fell away. She tugged on over her hair and opened her letter.

_Kaylee,_

_Try not ta cry overmuch for me, meimei. I been dead a long time already, its only now m'body's gettin the message. Ya need ta ask Zoë ta tell ya bout the day I died. Ain't a happy story, tho I think ya mite like it._

_I can't thank ya nuff for bein there for me, treatin me like people rite from the first an not jus the dumb merc. Ya made me member what its like ta be human agin, an ya kep me human all this time._

_Stop cryin already. A smile like yourn aht never go dimlike. Dong ma?_

_Tho I dunno whys ya like him so much, try an be pashent with Simon. The boy means well, an he __trys__. To many folk woulda jus give up by now, but he's got grit. Clean grit, sure nuff, but grit jus the same. He ever learns how ta get messy an talk like plain folk stead o'that corified nancy boy crap an there won't be much in the verse as can stop him._

_I know its a lot ta ask for, but couldja __try__ not ta get grease on m'hat? I'm trustin ya ta keep it shiny for me._

_Smile like ya mean it, meimei, an soon nuff ya will,  
Jayne Cobb_

The letter brought about a fit of giggling at Simon's expense. More tears, sure, but some point during the last hour, the tears themselves had begun to transition from bitter to healing. Simon grabbed the box. "Okay, you scoundrel, what do you have to say to me?"

The package was large and heavier than it looked. It clunked when Simon sat it on the table. He tore off the paper to reveal a slick little pistol, secured in a plain black holster, slung on a web-belt with a snap-and-lock buckle; there was also a small sketch book, almost unnoticed in the bundle. "A gun?" Simon was puzzled. He opened his letter, and read it to the group.

_Simon,_

_I don't ritely know what ta say, so I'm gonna start with a genral pology for – well evrythin I ever done an said what wasn't rite with regard ta ya an yer sis. Think ya know already, but if not, have Mal share the part o'his letter bout Ariel. Ain't nuff words in the verse ta spress how sorry I am bout that, an even if I lived nuther 100 years, there weren't nuthin I could do as ta make up for it, so I ain't even gonna try. What I will do, tho, is ta give ya what comfert I can._

_I was raised in church, same branch as Book – its why we got on so well. As such I know I ain't never gonna git ta see m'wife nor our yunguns agin. Men like me don't git ta go ta heaven. I done sinned to much for that. Mostly killin. Mite got in anyways if I were sorry for it all, but that ain't __never__ gonna happen. Evryone I ever kilt had it comin, an theys that kilt m'family most o'all. Yer prolly wondrin bout that. Ask Zoë. She knows bout m'family._

_Its rite funny, ain't it? I knowed I was goin ta hell for a long time now, but the only thing I done what I regret's the one thing I feel I akshully deserve it for. I can justify the killin. Can't never justify what I done on Ariel. So I'm gonna go quietlike ta what I deserve. Its the least I can do for ya an yer sis._

_Now as ta the gun. I know ya got that hippocritic oath thing what's always on yer mind. That do no harm marlarky. But ya been out in the black long nuff now ta know it ain't always so black an white, that sometimes its kill or be kilt. Ya ain't like me, ya don't deserve no early grave, so ya gotta be prepared ta defend yerself. Kaylee, to, for that matter, cause Lord knows she ain't the violent sort, not even when its needful. Ya got it in ya, tho, that streak o'steel runnin down yer backbone. An it ain't a bad thing ta have it, not out here._

_The gun's a Xiao Emo PPK927, .38 caliber an I always called her Penny. Its also what Pa woulda called idiot proof. Its got a laser sight what'll shine a lil red dot where the bullet will hit. Ya will still need ta praktis some, jus ta get use ta the kick. I know ya ain't savy on gunlingo, so I made ya a owner's manual what even a lil kid could follow. I put this in there to, but I'm gonna add it ta the letter to, jus ta make sure it sinks in that head o'yourn._

_The 2 thins ya always gotta keep in mind with guns – 1. __ALWAYS ASUME ITS LOADED__. Even if ya unloaded it when ya put it up an ya can see the clip rite there, __always__ check the slide an visualy inspekt the chamber. 1 o'Pa's deputys fergot that rule an wound up shootin hisself thru his eye. __Always double check__. 2. Don't never point it at somethin ya ain't ready ta shoot. Guns is all kinds o'shiny fun, but they ain't toys an they ain't for games._

_I'm gonna leave off by tellin ya the same thing what I tol Mal, sept his was for Inara, not Kaylee – ya best be treatin yer girl rite, else I'm gonna crawl outta hell an haunt yer dumb pigu._

_Jayne Cobb_

"Don't feel guilty," River said, directing her words to Simon. "He didn't write it to make you feel guilty."

Simon sniffled and absently reached for the sketchbook, expecting to see simple line-drawings and more mangled grammar and horrible spelling. "Wish I didn't, River," Simon said, opening the book. What greeted him was not what he was expecting – the drawings were both technically accurate and skillfully drawn, nearly enough that Simon felt he could reach through the page and pull the pieces through the paper. The written portion of his new owner's manual was done in Chinese that, if Simon were being completely honest, was likely more accurate than his own would have been. He frowned, suddenly realizing something. "That… that… that…"

"I don't think anger is better, but how come you're amused, too?" River asked, craning her neck to see over Simon's shoulder.

"He's the one who kept switching the cortex over to Chinese text! I thought it was you," Simon looked up at his sister. "Sorry, but it seemed like something you'd do." He turned back to the book and peered at the characters then looked at the letter once more. "Well, I'll be… That explains a bit, too." This last bit was said in an undertone that only Kaylee and River could really hear.

"What explains what?" Kaylee asked.

"Apparently, Jayne wasn't the uneducated moron I thought." He ducked the swat Kaylee aimed at his head. "Hey! I didn't mean anything by it, but look," he held out the book and the letter. "He can barely make himself understood with English, but the Chinese is perfectly clear."

Kaylee looked from the book to the letter and then up at Simon. "So?"

"The man was at least mildly dyslexic," Simon stressed. "Had I known, there are a whole host of things we could have done that would fix it so he had an easier time with English."

"Let it go, Simon," River said and Kaylee nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, Simon. It don't matter no more. Ya did help him," she said, "even though he didn't want it none."

"Yes, Simon," River knew Kaylee was referring to getting Jayne to Silverhold alive. She met her brother's gaze and nodded. "You did help him there at the end." She saw when he realized that his culpability in Jayne's last day being his last day was something she knew about. He could also see that she didn't blame him at all for it. He closed his eyes and nodded, then tapped the side of the box. "You want yours now?"

River shook her head. "Let Oriole go next."

The blonde looked a little surprised that she'd been included, but accepted the package and letter. The paper wrapping covered a small song book. She opened the letter and read it.

_Oriole,_

_Sorry we din't git much time ta get ta know each othern. I don't ritely feel proper includin ya, but I din't want ya ta feel left out none, either. I know ya prolly wouldn'ta been upset if I din't, but that jus ain't me. Sides, I'm pretty sure we coulda been friends if I'd had more time._

_The songbook's my favrit. It was given me a while back on Haven. I hope there's some new ones in it for ya. M'own gitar din't survive the crash what kilt our last pilot, else ya mite have gotten ta hear the songs afore now._

_The rest o'the crew, septin Kaylee, prolly won't miss me much. That's ok tho. Ya never really saw it none, but I was a rite hundan a lot o'the time. Git em ta tell ya the stories. Kaylee's the one what'll miss me, an if ya could, don't let none o'the rest be to hard on her for it._

_Ya maybe noticed the crew mostly acts like family. Yer a good sort an will fit in, prolly better an me. If ya want it, that is. Jus takes time._

_Jayne Cobb_

"If it weren't for the fact I saw how he acted right at first, leering at me and all, I'd suspect he was lying," Oriole said, flipping through the book he'd left for her. She already knew many of the songs it contained, but there were a few small notes here and there in the margins, changes to the lyrics that made them more personal to the crew she was now piloting for.

"No," Zoë replied. "He was telling the truth – he did have his moments of being a right bastard."

"My turn," River announced, diving for the box. She tore the paper off the bundle – a pair of matched pistols in hand-tooled leather holsters. Then picked up the letter and handed it to Simon as she immediately put the gun belt on.

Simon took the hint and read Jayne's letter to River.

_River,_

_Hell, I dunno why I'm even botherin ta rite this. Ya prolly already know evrythin I'm gonna say. That in mind, crazy-ninja-assassin-girl, I'm jus gonna hit the hi bits._

River was smiling broadly, mouthing the words as Simon read them.

_The guns are Flora an Fauna. Flora's in the rite holster an she kicks like a mule. Fauna's the left an pulls hi an ta the rite. They was always a lil small for me, so I spect they'll do for ya jus bout perfekt. Ya wanna praktis some afore ya really need em, tho. Drag yer brother along an show him how ta use his._

_Always member ya can never have to much ammo. An don't lissen ta Mal when he says ta leave the grenades behind._

_Look after this bunch for me, wouldja? They take a lot o'that, as I spect ya know already._

_Jayne Cobb_

River laughed. "They do at that, ape-man-with-a-girl's-name. And I'll do my best." She looked at the rest of the crew. _He may have thought he owed me and Simon, but he didn't. He had reasons for all of it and stood by us in the end. And, after everyone has some time to heal, I'll let them know his fears were unfounded. He's with his family, and he just might drop by to visit every now and again._ She'd not been able to help herself. When she felt Jayne's consciousness start slipping away, she'd focused on it, and unwittingly tagged along for the ride. "My very best."

* * *

**A/N2:** No, I haven't forgotten anybody. There's one more chapter (more of an epilogue, really), then – unless something really surprising happens – I think this will be all wrapped up. And from what little I could find online, dyslexia isn't as big a problem when the written language isn't an alphabet.

Wow. I think _I _cried with that. So, since I did, it's okay to admit it. Go on, ya know ya wanna.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: ** See chapter one.

**A/N:** And we come to the end of it.

* * *

**Brompton Cocktail**

_Chapter Thirty_

Inara always enjoyed spring, particularly if she managed to experience it while on a world that had more plant life than simple desert scrub. She loved the new flowers and the soft, warming rains, and the thick growth of new grass. And yet, though it was a particularly lovely day, she felt unsettled as she wandered the gardens of the training house. Sheydra caught up with her near a small koi-pond, and simply watched in silence as Inara tossed a small handful of compressed fish-food into the water, one pellet at a time. "Did you need something, Sheydra?" Inara asked, tossing the last pellet at a smallish fish near the back of the pond.

"Yes," the older woman replied. "We've much to discuss, Inara. Perhaps you would join me for brunch?"

Inara knew it wasn't a request, and so she followed Sheydra to where a light meal consisting primarily of various fruits and tea was laid out on a table on the veranda. The pair discussed trivial things – the weather, the girls and boys in training – while nibbling. It was only civilized to put off serious matters until after the meal. When the only tray remaining contained simple tea, Sheydra beckoned to her bondsman. He stepped forward and handed over a small package. "This arrived for you," Sheydra said. "May I inquire as to whom you know on Three Hills?"

Inara's forehead furrowed. "As far as I know, I don't know anybody from Three Hills." She reached for the package. "But," she thought she knew who might have sent it to her, "Serenity does business there every so often. It's probably from Kaylee."

Sheydra let go of the paper-wrapped box. "I don't believe so. The label is decidedly a masculine hand."

Inara looked at it, noticing it was labeled in Chinese. "So it would seem." Curiosity blossomed. It wasn't Mal's handwriting – she honestly didn't recognize it – but Sheydra was right, it was definitely a man's writing. She slit the tape along one end with her fingernails and slid the box out of the paper. She opened the box and forgot to breathe. Inside the box, nestled among dried hay and resting atop folded pages of a letter was a decorative comb, carved from lavender jade, and sporting a stylized lotus-blossom.

Sheydra couldn't help herself, she leaned over and had to look. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "Early Southern Song Dynasty, unless I miss my guess," Sheydra said. "That's a very valuable trinket, Inara, and definitely not something I would have expected from anyone living further out than Osiris." Her tone clearly asked, 'who would have sent that to you?' with a light underpinning of 'would you consider donating it to the house treasury?'

Inara chose to ignore the older woman's implied questions. "It is beautiful," she agreed, carefully sliding out the letter that came with it. The scent of gun oil, cheap whiskey, and cigar smoke clung to the paper and her curiosity kicked up another notch. She only knew one person who smelled like that. "Jayne?" she whispered, unfolding the papers.

The letter was, indeed, from Serenity's mercenary, and written entirely in Chinese, save for names.

_Inara,_

_It feels strange, writing this to you when everyone else is just down the corridor from me. They'll know long before you get this letter, interplanetary postal service being what it is, but by the time it reaches you, I'll likely be buried next to my wife and our children._

_I can almost see your face at that. Yes, you read that right. I was married a very long time ago. Kaida and I had a little boy named Morley and a baby girl named Adelaide. Morley would have been about the same age as River, and Addie would have been only a few years younger had they lived. They meant everything to me, and though I wish every day I could have had more time with them, I'm just grateful they were in my life at all. You always reminded me of Kaida, particularly when you were bickering with Mal – she had that same stubborn streak, that same inner fire. She needed it, being married to me. If you ever find yourself on Silverhold, you ought to look up my mother, Radiant Cobb. She'd be right tickled that her boy knew a Companion and she'd be happy to tell you more about Kaida. I simply don't have the words for it._

_You're probably wondering what I'm going on about. I'm sure there's better ways, more appropriate ones, to say it, but I don't know them, so I'll just say it and be done – I'm dying. Came down with ruby fever. I don't have much time left. I would have liked to see you in person one more time, but I have to go home. I have to tell my mother it's over. You should ask Zoë what I mean, it's not something I can put in a letter._

_The comb belonged to Kaida. She wore it in her hair on our wedding day. I want you to have it. I know you'll take care of it and probably get some use of it, too. Kaylee would love it, I know, but it isn't exactly something suitable for working on the engines, now is it? Kaida swore up and down that it was made from jade and came from Earth-that-Was. Now, I admit I'm not the smartest man in the universe, and I sure as hell am not calling my wife a liar, but isn't jade supposed to be green? Even if it is just plastic, I still want you to have it._

_I don't have a whole lot left to say, only that if Mal actually listens to me for a change, do yourself a favor and try not to get mad at him when he comes to see you. I shouldn't have to tell you this, since you're supposed to know all about menfolk already, but we tend to be right stupid, particularly to the girls we like. If you find yourself getting mad, you should do what Kaida always did and count to ten. If you're still angry, then do it again in as many languages as you know how. By the time she passed, Kaida knew how to count to ten in sixteen different ways._

_Take care of yourself,  
Jayne Cobb_

Sheydra watched Inara read the letter, her face showing surprise, curiosity, sadness, and faint humor in rapid succession. "That… hundan," Inara muttered, folding the letter and tucking it back into the box with the comb, and though the word was harsh, it was said with honest fondness.

"Pardon?" Sheydra had never heard Inara curse before, let alone in such a puzzling way.

"An old friend," Inara explained, surprising herself at how well the word fit. "Not a client – never a client. He works for Captain Reynolds."

Though Sheydra dearly wanted to know more – Inara hadn't spoken much about the rest of the crew on Reynolds' ship – it wouldn't have been seemly. So, instead of pressing for more information, she simply said, "You should tell me more about him sometime." Sheydra refilled their tea cups. Afterwards, she allowed the requisite amount of time to pass to allow for a complete change of subject. Once her inner clock chimed, she spoke again. "You are not happy here, Inara."

"I enjoy working with the trainees, and it's beautiful here. Comfortable and fulfilling," Inara argued. She wilted a little at the stern gaze from the older woman. "But I suppose you are right. I'm not happy here." Sheydra stayed quiet, letting silence do her work for her. It worked. Inara continued, "But I was _miserable_ there!"

The corners of Sheydra's mouth twitched up. "Who said happiness and misery were mutually exclusive states?" At Inara's confused expression, Sheydra sat her tea cup down. "Xiao meimei, you should _always_ follow where your heart leads."

"But –"

Sheydra held up a hand. "No buts, dear. I've known this was never going to be a permanent place for you. Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like, and will forever be welcome to visit, but I think we both know where you belong." Sheydra paused, letting her words sink in. "Before you start with the inevitable questions, let me see if I can guess what you're already going to ask. 'But what will I do? He doesn't approve of my being a Companion!'" Sheydra mimicked the whiny tones of a petulant teenager, managing a small smile from Inara. "I checked your standing with the Guild. You paid off your training debt six months ago. You owe the Guild _nothing_."

"You mean retire?"

Sheydra nodded. "Why keep on with it? Most Companions find a personal appointment by the time they're your age, and those that don't are either true-born teachers, taking positions at training houses like ours, or they retire and pursue other interests. You wouldn't be the first, and you won't be the last, to retire because those other interests happen to include a particularly perplexing person."

Inara had to smile at Sheydra's alliteration. "That still doesn't answer what I'd actually _do_."

"That part is simple – you _live_. If you're worried about money, you shouldn't. Transition over to the mediator's guild, or take the additional classes to become a psychotherapist, or take up macramé and sell it on those little moons your pirate is always frequenting. There are always ways to earn a living."

"But –"

"No _buts_! You know I'm right." Inara did at that. But she didn't know if she was ready to retire, and managed to say as much. Sheydra sighed. "It's something you really should do, Inara. Otherwise, you're going to be asking yourself if you did the right thing for the rest of your life. And that other question I see burning the back of your mind – 'Why do _I_ have to give up my career and he doesn't?' – isn't so much a problem. You know how to manipulate. We taught you how to do it so that the man in question doesn't even realize it. Would it really be that difficult to swing his business ventures around to the legal side of transporting?"

Inara had to admit she had a point. Sheydra stood. "Think on it, Inara. I believe you'll find I'm right."

Inara sat at the table for several long hours after Sheydra left her, caught in the same circular reasoning that had her hiding at the training house to begin with. Eventually, her eyes landed on the package from Jayne. The postmark was over a month old. _He died and I wasn't there. He said he would have liked to see me one more time, but… I wasn't there. He and I were never close. How much worse would it be – _will_ it be – if I wind up getting a letter like this, only about Kaylee? Or Mal? Sheydra's right. I don't belong here. Serenity's home. Not just the shuttle, but the _people_, infuriating though they might be at times._ She wondered where they were.

She drifted up to her rooms and looked up lodgings on Persephone.

_Finite Incantatum._

* * *

**A/N2:** There ya go. All done. And no, I don't believe I'll be writing a sequel. Jayne's my favorite character and I don't think I can do a _Firefly_ story without him.

Reviews are what makes the world go 'round.


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